Until We Meet Again
by SandraK
Summary: JC, ALL PT, EMH7 [C7] Janeway and Chakotay manage to make more of a mess of their friendship in the Alpha Quadrant than they did in the Delta Quadrant.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

2379

            It was the anniversary of Voyager's triumphant return to the Alpha Quadrant.

            Chakotay arrived, dressed in an open-necked shirt and a comfortable pair of slacks, determined to pass the evening in the best of cheer.  It seemed like one of those cruel twists of fate when the first of the senior staff he encountered was Seven of Nine.  She'd been standing in a long blue dress, her back to him.  Chakotay attempted to walk by unnoticed, but she turned just in time to see him.  He tensed when her eyes alighted upon him, expecting the worst.  Fortunately, though, she smiled softly upon seeing him, nearly erasing his memory of her bitterness just a few months earlier when he'd broken it off.

            They spoke a few minutes, their conversation perfunctory, but friendly.  She'd accepted a position at the Daystrom institute.  Yes, she'd been working with the Doctor.  Yes, he was planning to attend tonight; he was delayed due to an important medical conference.  Yes, things had been going well for her.  She realized now that his decision was the right one.  The Alpha Quadrant had numerous opportunities for her to explore humanity, and she needed the breakup to broaden her perspective... and more words that were lost to his memory as soon as he heard them.

            They parted, and he walked with a crooked smile through the ever thickening crowd, recognizing some faces, Voyager veterans.  They all had a kind word for him, but usually, like him, they had closer friends they wanted to talk to.  He spotted B'Elanna Torres and Tom Paris, and they descended upon him with large bear hugs.  Paris juggled the fiesty baby Miral.  B'Elanna and Tom bemoaned the toils of parenthood, discussed her position at Starfleet Engineering Corps, inquired about his professorship at the University of New Mexico's Anthropology Department, and then spoke more of Miral. 

            It wasn't until later in the evening that She finally arrived.  He'd exchanged a few brief communiques with her, spoken over a few abbreviated lunch dates, but mostly, he'd only heard of her through the media.  The Subspace Frequency 32 Biography of Kathryn Janeway, hero of the Delta Quadrant.  News of Captain Kathryn Janeway's promotion to Admiral.  A ceremony rewarding Admiral Kathryn Janeway with the Medal of Honor, the highest possible Starfleet accolade.  Speculation in the Terran Inquirer about the nature of Admiral Kathryn Janeway's relationship with Admiral John Durant.

            She'd grown to incredible proportions in the media.  A living legend, some called her.  Every newsreel showed Admiral Janeway gazing ahead with a strange austerity and composure, receiving some accolade, attending some ceremonial function.  Chakotay had been surprised at the extent of her hero's welcome.  He could remember a few quiet nights in her quarters when she voiced her private misgivings about a possible negative reception in the Alpha Quadrant.

            When Kathryn Janeway appeared in the doorway, he looked up, and watched as she hesitated, a strange mixture of emotions on her face.  A sudden tension stole over Chakotay, and it took him a moment to collect himself and step towards her.

            But before he could speak, she was mobbed by crewmembers and families, and she dissapeared from his sight.  Chakotay's chest suddenly felt tight, and he decided to get another glass of champagne.  He turned away, stopped at the champagne table, and picked up a glass.  He stood there alone, staring into the distance with unseeing eyes, when he felt a hand lightly touch his back.

            He turned around, and she was standing there, a brilliant smile across her lips.  She wore a sleeveless black dress, and her hair hung loosely about her slim shoulders.

            "I thought that was you," Kathryn said, beaming at him with a surprising amount of fondness.

            "Kathryn..."  Chakotay felt a smile pull at his own lips, and he reached forward to draw her into a hug.  Her arms came around him, and suddenly, it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  He was relieved, immensely relieved, that she was still the same woman he remembered.  Maybe some part of him expected to see a living legend walk in, or perhaps he feared she'd buy into her own hype and seat herself on a pedestal higher than any could reach.  But here, in his arms, he reflected as he drew her closer, she was as human and as familiar as she'd ever been.

            They drew back to gaze at each other fondly, and he noticed that she'd stopped spraying her rich auburn hair to immobility.  It hung in loose tendrils that carressed her cheeks and shoulders, a look that softened her features.  Her skin was somewhat whiter than the last time he'd seen her.  Something about the intensity in her pale, blue eyes surprised him.

            "I haven't seen you in a while," she murmered.

            "I've been busy," he lied, holding her eyes with his dark ones.  Truthfully, it had been too awkward to be around her during his relationship with Seven.  He'd sensed her dissaproval.  During her rise to prominence, it was even worse.  Chakotay knew well that one holopicture of them dining together would end up on every tabloid newsreel by the end of the day.  Today, he was under no such constraint; their reunion was being held in the Amsterdam estate of Tom Paris's uncle, and the media was banned from the location.

            "Busy. I can definitely relate to that!" she said with a hollow laugh.  She reached past him to grab a glass of champagne, and they began to stroll across the room together.

            "So, you've been in the news quite a bit," Chakotay said with a smile.  "You wouldn't believe where I can get in by claiming I know you."

            Kathryn's laugh rang false.  "Well, at least I can do a friend one good turn."  She took a deep sip of her champagne.

            "More than one.  I'm trying to remember some scandalous stories about you to sell to the Terran Inquirer," he teased.  "I was thinking about that one time at Prixin--"  She elbowed him, her eyes warming up.

            "You wouldn't dare!"  

            He grinned broadly.  "I don't know-- fifty bars of latinum is a lot of money..."

            Kathryn scoffed.  "You try it, and I'll show you the true powers of the Admiral's rank!"  There was laughter in her voice.

            "I wouldn't dare tangle with that," Chakotay drawled, and his gaze slipped over to meet hers.

            She laughed briefly.  Then she seemed to become aware of him watching her, and the amusement died from her eyes;  she regarded him with searching gravity.

            "I missed you, you know," she confessed quietly.

            He reached out and took her hand in his.  "I missed you, too."  He paused, then added, "We should talk more often."

            To his surprise, a glazed look spread across her face, as though she were suddenly preoccupied with some dark thoughts.  Her voice was distant when she replied,  "Yes, of course we should."

            He studied her for a long moment, then tried,  "I was planning to go to Italy tomorrow. Would you like to come with me--"

            She looked up suddenly, her bright blue eyes suddenly intent.  "I can't tomorrow."

            Chakotay paused a beat, then shrugged his large shoulders, already regretting his presumption.  He tried to sound dismissive as he said, "Well, if not tomorrow, maybe some other--"

            "Tonight."  She held his gaze intently.  "Can we go tonight?"

            "Tonight?"  He looked around in some confusion. "But the reception--"

            "There will be other reunions, Chakotay... the crew's not going anywhere.  And we might as well take advantage of the media's absence," he heard some bitterness in her voice as she spoke.  Her eyes fluttered back up to his, and she added softly,  "Please."

            Something in her tone, her words, made him forget the crewmembers around him.  He followed her out of the reception as if in a dream.  She was the only figure he focused on amidst the bustling crowd.  They might as well have been with strangers for all the attention he paid them. 

            They stepped on the public transporter platform, dematerialized in Amsterdam, rematerialized in Rome.  Kathryn paused at the com panel to make hotel reservations under Chakotay's name, and asked the computer for directions to the hotel.  She acted entirely without consulting him, but for once he didn't mind.  The hotel room... was she seriously considering... no, not possible.  He trailed along with her, tried to make small talk, found it as easy as talking to a wall.  He decided to wait and see what she was planning.  Thus far, he was enjoying her spontaneity.

            Together, then, they set out across the paved streets, no words exchanged.  Sometimes he'd look over to see her watching him with an unreadable look on her face.  Their eyes would meet for a split second, and he'd feel his heart thump loudly in his chest when she looked away, as if embarassed she'd been caught staring.

            _You're deluding yourself, _he admonished himself a few times.  _She's not thinking what you're thinking.  This is Kathryn we're talking about, Captain Janeway... the one who doesn't have feelings for you, who applauded your relationship with Seven, remember?  She's probably had a bad week and needs to talk, or maybe some information on some event while we were on Voyager_--

            The doubt vanished from his mind as they entered their darkened hotel suite and she pulled him into her arms.  Without a second thought, Chakotay dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.  Her mouth parted easily to his touch, and he grasped her around the waist to slowly navigate her across the room to the bed.

            Their tongues battled for supremacy, and he could feel her hands running urgently over his body.  After a moment, he pulled back, gasping for air.  She didn't stop, though; her eyes were dark with passion, and her fingers flew across the buttons of his shirt.

            He put out a large hand to still hers, and she looked up questioningly.

            "Kathryn, do you really want this?" his voice was husky with need.  He knew she could feel his hardness pressing against her torso.  "I don't want you to do this if you're feeling less than--"

            She slipped her hand around the back of his head and guided his lips down to meet hers, silencing his words.  He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her slim body tightly against his bare chest.  She drew her lips from his and pressed them to his ear.  He slowly trailed kisses down her neck as she whispered,  "I want this.  I've always wanted this.  Just one night, let's forget everything that's happened, and everything that's to come..."

            She might have said more, but a fire long supressed stirred within him, growing beyond his own control, and he couldn't hear her words over the roaring in his ears.  His hands ran over her body, stroking her firmly, memorizing her with his touch.  He pressed his lips to her flesh, tasting her, buried his face into her hair, smelling the faint peach scent.  His hand slipped behind her to yank at the zipper of her dress, and she reached back to assist him.  It quickly slipped down her torso and slim hips to puddle about her feet at the floor.

            He gazed at her with an unbearable lust as she pulled at the zipper of his pants.  She slipped his pants from his waist, and pressed him towards the bed.

            They made love three times in the course of the night.  In a darkened hotel room, with the faint sounds of the Italian streets as their only companion, they released passion buried for eight years.  As his thoughts grew heavy with sleep, her warm body curled up against his, he could have sworn he heard her whisper,  "I love you."  But when his eyes snapped open, he saw that she already slumbered.

*          *          *

            The morning light streaming through the window roused him.  For a moment, he thought he'd had an incredible dream, but as he squinted around the bright room, she emerged from the bathing unit, zipping up a replicated Admiral's tunic.

            Chakotay felt intense pleasure and contentment sweep over him at the sight of her.  As she reached for the pips she'd laid on the dresser by the bed, he reached out and grasped her by the waist, pulling her to him for a long, wet kiss.

            At first she felt strangely stiff in his arms, then her body relaxed, sagging against him.

            "You have morning breath," she whispered as he pulled back, smiling.

            "And you're an early riser," he replied, holding her across his lap. He was still nude under the thin, white sheet, and his broad, powerful chest was bared to her.  She was transfixed by the sight of it.

            "If I'd known about those muscles of yours under that uniform, it would have made my job on Voyager much harder."

            "Not as hard as you made mine," he replied wryly, pressing his torso against her lightly to punctuate the double entendre.  She smiled despite herself.

            He reached up a hand and stroked her cheek lightly.  "You look beautiful this morning."

            Her smile froze on her face, and then slowly faded.  Something hardened in her gaze.

            Kathryn stood up and pulled out of his arms, turning away from him to fasten the numerous pips onto her collar.  Chakotay watched her back as her arms jerked in a strangely harsh motion.

            When she said nothing, he spoke,  "So, are we going to talk about this?"

            "About what?" she said, her voice impersonal.

            "I think you know what."  He leaned his broad, muscular body back against the pillows and studied her intently.  "I think you once called it the 'parameters' of our relationship.  Where do we go from here?  For God's sakes, Kathryn... we haven't seen each other in months, we barely spoke last night, we had sex, and this morning you're mute.  Where is this going to go?"

            "Go?"

            He looked at her.  "Tomorrow, for instance.  You know how I feel about you, and I think I know how you feel about--"

            "This is nothing, Chakotay."  Her voice was strangely cold.

            He blinked.  Then, "What?" 

            She turned to him, her face entirely dispassionate, her eyes as cold as ice.  "It was just sex, Chakotay.  It meant nothing. And I--" she seemed to have difficulty speaking, and her voice abruptly choked off.

            He tried, "Kathryn, you can't say--"

            "I'm getting married, Chakotay."

            Chakotay felt something within him freeze.

            "I'm marrying Admiral Durant," she continued coldly, uncaring that her words jabbed at him like a knife.

            "You're marrying Durant?"  Chakotay echoed in disbelief.  "But-- Kathryn, what was this...   I don't understand..."

            "I love him," she said, and he could hear how false the words were.  He saw tears swimming in her eyes as she continued,  "And this can never happen again." She gestured vaguely to the hotel room around them.

            He stood there, rooted in place.

            "I came to you..." she continued in a ragged voice.  "Because this is the last time I'll ever see you.  When I leave here today, I don't ever want to see you again, understand me?"

            "Kathryn--"

            "Stay away from me.  Stay out of my life."

            "You can't meant that," he replied, his voice rising with sudden anger.  A muffled sound came from her lips, as though she'd choked on her retort.  She looked down at the ground, swallowing hard.  Her entire body was rigid, and he could tell she was trying to fight back tears.  His anger suddenly faded.  There had to be a reason behind this.  It wasn't like her to act like this.

             "Look at you..." he said softly.  "Kathryn, you're a wreck.  Why don't you tell me what's going on--"

            "Nothing."  She looked up again, her eyes clear.  "Nothing is going on.  It's simply that this is _it_.  I go my way, you go yours... end of story."

            "But why?" he demanded.  "What's so--"

            Her expression suddenly hardened.  With a dangerous voice, she ground out,  "_I never want to see you again_.  Do you understand, Chakotay?  _Never_.  I have my reasons, now accept it, and stay the hell away!"

            There was no mistaking her tone this time.

            He felt hurt, fresh and strong, burst up within him.  Her actions were inexplicable.  He didn't understand what the hell had changed between this morning and last night, he didn't know--

            But he didn't press her again.  He felt himself grow cold.

            In a chilly voice, he said,  "Fine.  Have it your way.  I'll stay away."

            He stood, walked towards the bathroom.  "And I think you know where the door is, _Admiral_."

            He bent over the sink and sloshed a handful of water onto his face.  After a few seconds, he heard the doors hiss open and closed as she walked out of his life.

            He straightened and gazed into his dark reflection in the mirror, staring at it grimly.  Damn.  Damn damn damn.  It served him right.  This is what it felt like to be used.  Janeway had toyed with him for seven years on Voyager, until he'd escaped through Seven.  Then last night came.  Why had she done that?  Fucked him?  Consummated their relationship, then drawn away simply to enjoy his pain one last time before she married?  Perhaps it was the final assertion of her power... the last time she could use his need for her to her advantage.

            Never again.  Never again would he let that woman do this him.

            Chakotay hardened his heart.  _Never again._


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE One Year Later 

            _Jesus...  _Paris stared at the closed door, trying to formulate a coherent thought.  What could you really say in a situation like this?

            Tal Celes, Megan Delaney, Ken Dalby, Mortimer Harren, Jenny Delaney... the poor bastards.  They made it home to the Alpha Quadrant and spent two years pulling their lives back together just to die of a latent, undetected pathogen from the Delta Quadrant.

            Tom liked all of them... the sweet Tal Celes girl, the spunky Delaney sisters, the raucous Ken Dalby... hell, even Mortimer Harren improved after Janeway hauled him out on the Delta Flyer and whipped him into shape.  And in the course of one week they all kick the bucket.  Right before the reunion, too.  If that wasn't a tragedy, Tom Paris didn't know what was.

            He jolted his feet when the door slid open, sudden tension in his frame.  "Mr. Paris?" the Doctor called from the doorway.

            Tom looked on intently as B'Elanna emerged from behind the hologram, clutching Miral.  She smiled, and he felt his body relax.

            The Doctor beamed.  "You'll be pleased to know that neither Mrs. Torres nor Ms. Paris are infected.  Now, if you'll please come with me..."

            Paris shot a relieved glance towards his wife, and B'Elanna smiled tightly in return.  They had both been shaken by the news.  Anyone on Voyager could have caught this virus.  These poor guys had gone about their business, put the Delta Quadrant behind them, and never realized their plight until it was too late.  Paris applauded the Doctor for taking advantage of the reunion to ensure the well-being of the former Voyager crew.

            B'Elanna squeezed his hand as he walked past her, and he gave her a reassuring smile. 

            "B'Elanna, why don't you go back to the reception?" he said smoothly.  "I'm sure everything--"

            "I'm staying here," Torres cut in, determination flinting her eyes.  "The crew can wait."  She pointedly sat down against the wall, smoothing her slacks out with one hand before plopping Miral on her lap. 

            Paris smiled his thanks, and winked once at the giggling Miral, then turned and walked into the examination room.  The Doctor tapped the door closed, and smiled at Tom as he began to wave the tricorder.

            "You needn't worry, Mr. Paris.  I have yet to discover any infected crewmembers tonight," the Doctor said cheerfully.

            Paris shook his head.  "I just can't believe it, Doc.  How could they go to medical exams for two years without anyone noticing they had this virus?"

            The Doctor bristled a little defensively.  "You have to remember, Mr. Paris, tricorders can't detect everything.  These crewmen showed no signs of illness as late as an hour before their deaths."

            Tom's brow furrowed.  "If tricorders can't detect it, why bother scanning us?"

            The Doctor scowled at him.  "Mr. Paris, questions like that from the ships medic will not help reassure the Voyager crew.  Besides, one can never be too careful."

            Tom sat there in silence, allowing the Doctor to complete his work.   After a moment, the Doctor's eyes slipped up from the tricorder.  "You'll be pleased to know," the Doctor said, giving Paris a slightly condescending smile,  "That you're perfectly healthy."

            "That's a relief."

            "Do you know, Mr. Paris," the Doctor said, folding up the tricorder,  "if Commander Chakotay has arrived yet?  I'd like to scan him tonight.  He's the only crewmember I've missed."

            "I wouldn't know," Paris said slowly.  "B'Elanna and I haven't been to the reception yet.  We came straight here.  Was he even planning on coming?"

            "He wasn't planning to, but he may have changed his mind after the events of last week, especially now that the cap--the Admiral declined her invitation," the Doctor said wryly.

            "She did?" Tom asked, puzzled.  He rose to his feet, straightening his turtleneck.  "Why?"

            "I understand she had a previous engagement."

            "Typical."  Tom's eyes flashed with more than a little irritation.  "Previous engagement.  Same crap she's been saying all year.  You'd think the mighty Admiral could clear her busy schedule _this _time.  She could do at least that much for Jenny and the others."

            The Doctor gazed at him a moment, and Paris knew he was debating his response.  The EMH seemed to discard his first impulse, because Tom saw him briefly shake his head and turn away.  "I'm sure she was as distraught as anyone else over this."  

            "Oh, come on, Doc.  You know Admirals.  They get in power, they forget their friends.  Just look at my father."

            "I highly doubt that's the case, Mr. Paris," the Doctor replied a little uncertainly.  "She's been to see me a few times.  She was as friendly as ever."

            "For social visits?" Tom asked, surprised.

            A pause, then,  "Medical exams."

            Tom smirked at that, but his expression faded into a thoughtful look as he said,  "Maybe it's for the best.  B'Elanna's not too thrilled with her right now, and frankly, neither am I.  Apart from her recent high horse, the way she's been acting is downright miserable."

            "For example..." the Doctor prodded, his interest piqued despite himself.

            "For example, the number she did on Chakotay.  I don't know what she said to the big guy, but you should have seen him after the last reunion-- he was a mess.  He won't even talk about her now.  I don't think he could even stand to be in the same room as her."

            "Well, whatever the nature of the 'number' she did on him, I'm sure it's not our place to speculate," the Doctor said with a short, tight smile before reaching out and switching off his scanning equipment with a few brusque taps.

            Paris was gazing at him in disbelief.  "What's happened to you, Doc?  You used to love sticking your nose in other people's business!"

            "I like to think I've transcended idle gossip."

            Paris stood up, and they walked towards the door together.

            "Really?  And how have you done that?"

            The Doctor beamed proudly.  "Mr. Paris, on Voyager I was the one who heard about the gossip.  On Earth, I'm the one who _makes_ the gossip.  Perhaps you've heard about my... recent involvement with a certain former Borg drone?"

            Paris suddenly understood and slapped the Doctor on the shoulder.  "You old dog!   You're shacking up with the woman of your dreams?  Join the club!"

            The Doctor's chest puffed out with pride.  "I'm happy to say, I have already done more than simply... 'join your club.'  You see, we're engaged.  We're planning to announce it tonight."

            Paris blinked once, surprised.  Then a grin broke across his face.  "Well, congratulations!  That's great.  I know B'Elanna will be thrilled." 

            He put his hand out to stop the Doctor before he could open the door.  "Listen, Doc, while we're on the subject..." he lowered his voice.  "Can you not mention the Chakotay thing around B'Elanna? She gets pretty steamed up on the subject."   

            "I will certainly keep it in mind," the Doctor replied conspiratorially.  Tom flashed him a smile, and they walked out the door together.

*          *          *

            After dropping Miral off in child care, they went to the reception.  It was in full swing by the time they arrived, or as close as it would get under the grim circumstances.  Most of the crew stood around in small groups, speaking in hushed voices with bleak expressions on their faces.

            _God.  Is this how it's going to be?_ B'Elanna wondered.  Every year, as more and more of the crew died of old age, or disease, or whatever blow fate should deliver, would they gather here like a funeral procession?  Seven years in the Delta Quadrant had forged a bond stronger than friendship, a bond, in many cases, stronger than blood, between the survivors of Voyager's journey.  Any two random crewmembers who had served in entirely different sectors of the ship, in entirely different places in the command structure, would still be intimately acquainted simply due to circumstance.

            Tal Celes wouldn't be happy.  _The Bajorans believe in celebrating life, not mourning it._

            It had made a lot of sense when B'Elanna had heard it.  Who had said that to her?

            Seska.  It was Seska.  B'Elanna fought back a laugh.  Everything she knew of Bajorans she learned from a Cardassian.

            She absently took a glass of champagne from a waiter as he stopped by their group.  Tom had one in his hand as well, and she knew the Doctor had a subroutine that made a champagne glass appear from an extension of his arm.  In fact, she'd programmed it.

            "Well," Tom said softly, frowning into his champagne briefly before raising it.  "Here's to Megan, Jenny, Tal, Mortimer, and Ken.  Friends beloved, friends departed.  May they rest in peace."

            "Here here," B'Elanna murmered, and clinked glasses with him.

            The Doctor paused before following suit to add,  "And to all our other friends who, for whatever reason, aren't with us here today."

            "I'll toast to that," B'Elanna said tartly, and she clinked her glass with his.

            Just then, she heard a familiar voice, "I hope you're not counting me among those other friends."

            B'Elanna whirled around, a grin lighting her face.  Chakotay was smiling back at her, and she pulled him into a giant hug.  "Here you are!" she growled.  "We thought you'd forgotten us!"

            "Never," he replied crisply, slapping her heavily on the back.  They pulled back, and she marveled at how tan he'd become.

            "Where the hell have you been hiding, Chakotay?  We've been trying to hail you for the last few months," Tom said jubilantly, reaching forward to grasp Chakotay's hand for a firm handshake. 

            "All about, actually," Chakotay replied, pulling back to shake hands with the Doctor.  "I took a sabbatical from my job at the university.  I've been at some digs, just exploring some of the more familiar Alpha Quadrant cultures from a Delta Quadrant perspective."

            "And quite a tan you picked up while you were at it, Commander," the Doctor noted smugly.  "You should really think about wearing more effective sun protection."

            Chakotay shot him a reproving glance, but a small smile tugged at his lips.  Paris quipped, "Same old doc!"

            "But truly, it's a pleasure to see you again, Chakotay," the Doctor added warmly.

            "It's good to see you, too, all of you.  I hadn't realized how much I missed familiar faces," Chakotay said, gazing around with pleasure.

            "I assume you've heard about our incident with the virus," the Doctor said.

            Chakotay's features darkened.  "I just heard a few days ago.  It's a shame."

            "It is indeed," the Doctor replied.  "I'd like to scan you before you leave, if you don't mind."

            Chakotay nodded once to that.  His mind appeared to be somewhere else.  B'Elanna noticed his dark eyes flitting around the reception.  "Who else is here?" he asked casually.

            "What, so we're not good enough company for you?" B'Elanna said wryly.  She punched him on the arm to tell him she was joking, and then added,  "Just about everyone.  There are a couple of people who couldn't make it--"

            "You needn't worry. Admiral Janeway was busy," the Doctor cut in.

            Chakotay's expression seemed to freeze on his face.  B'Elanna winced.  She knew it was what Chakotay had been asking, but the sheer lack of tact on the Doctor's part was staggering.

            Chakotay nodded coldly.  "Thank you, Doctor.  But I was thinking more along the lines of Seven of Nine, Harry, and Tuvok."

            _That _got the Doctor's attention.  A little disconcerted, he said,  "Mr. Tuvok is engaged on Vulcan.  Lieutenant Kim's ship is currently in the Beta Quadrant.  Seven of Nine goes by 'Annika' now... and my _fiancée _is off speaking with the Wildmans."

            Chakotay looked at him a beat, and B'Elanna couldn't tell what he was feeling.  He offered a neutral, "Congratulations." 

            "Thank you," the Doctor said, humbly, perhaps realizing that his reaction had been unwarranted.

            Chakotay looked away distractedly, and then said,  "I think I'm going to go speak with some of the crew.  I'll come talk to you all later."

            They all smiled and nodded.  "Enjoy yourself, Chakotay," B'Elanna called. 

            As soon as he was out of sight, she punched the Doctor, hard, on the arm.  She just wished he could feel pain.

            "What was that for?" the Doctor asked.  "I know I made a faux pas, so to speak, but I certainly wasn't going to tell him Annika--"

            "Not that," B'Elanna said, miffed.  "You made him use her as a cover.  You shouldn't have mentioned Janeway to him."

            The Doctor nodded, comprehending.  "I apologize.  I sensed that was a mistake the moment I said it."

            "Let's just be thankful she's not here tonight," Paris said.  "Imagine how awkward that would be.  The temperature dropped ten degrees when you simply mentioned her."

            "It's still dropping," Torres snarled.  "Just thinking about that woman right now makes me angry.  Let's not talk about her."

            "All right, she's not _that _bad, B'Elanna," Paris said reluctantly.  "So she turned down a few dinner invitations--"

            "A _few_?"  Torres demanded.  "She didn't bother to come see us all year.  Hell, she didn't even condescend to invite us to her wedding."

            The Doctor looked confused. "Wedding?  She told me she eloped."

            Torres looked at him with thinly veiled irritation.  "You obviously haven't been watching the news.  The outtakes were on every station."

            B'Elanna didn't miss the look of hurt on the Doctor's face.  He turned to Paris.  "Well... perhaps it was a closed affair.  What about your father?  If he was invited surely the invitation extended to--"

            Paris smirked.  "My father _wasn't _invited.  It seems he doesn't get along well with this Durant guy.  Janeway played the good little wife and made it abundantly clear that Owen Paris wasn't welcome."

            "That's horrible; I thought he and Admiral Janeway were close," the Doctor, apalled.

            "Well, they're not close anymore.  Whomever Durant likes and dislikes, she likes and dislikes.  And whoever opposes Durant's presidency, Durant most definitely doesn't like."  Paris raised his champagne glass and downed the rest with one swig. "My father doesn't think much of the man.  Now, he doesn't think much of Janeway, either."

            "Who would have thought she'd be so fickle," B'Elanna muttered.  "True colors, eh gentlemen?"

            They stood together in grim silence, polishing off their champagne.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

            The world swirled around her vision.  She closed her eyes, but the nauseating spinning continued unabated.  The sick spins, the stage after the pleasant buzz, but before the unpleasant nausea.  Her sister Phoebe loved the feeling, or so she used to claim.  Kathryn Janeway had always hated it.

            She took a deep, steadying breath, trying to force herself to focus.  She'd been staggering down the street for what seemed like hours, to the point where she no longer had any idea whether she was even walking the right direction to the transporter mat.    She had stopped to get her bearings.  She found herself waiting longer than she'd expected, the wall of the building cold and hard against her palms.  She thought that if she let the wall go, she'd fall right onto the ground, fall into the swirling vortex in her head.

            A thought surfaced: call for help.  Her hand felt its way around her chest, met only the coarse fabric of her shirt.  Then she remembered her plan: escape Starfleet, escape Him for a few hours; she'd left her comm badge at home.

            Tears came to her eyes, unchecked.  She hated this.  She was lost and she couldn't think.  Her mind flashed back to the man at the bar-- she'd forgotten his name-- who'd offered, then insisted on giving her a ride.  His palm, hot and fleshy, against her thigh, inching inwards.  Right in public, as though for show-- such blatant disrespect for her.  Her skin was going numb when he slipped his hand under her skirt, between her thighs, beneath her underwear.  His audacity would have infuriated her if she hadn't felt so numb already.  She sat there, a part of her objecting, the rest just wanting to go to sleep, as he whispered words and played his finger around her flesh.

            They were in a corner booth, but when she looked up, she saw two men across the room watching, leering towards her, amused.  They may even have recognized her.  She realized the men had to see everything.  She clawed at his hand, pulled against his grip, bumping hard into the table as she tottered to her feet. The men were snickering.  His hand brushed fleetingly against the back of her thigh as she stumbled forward through the hazy dimness of the bar, out into the fresh air of the street.

            Then what seemed like hours of weaving through Paris streets.  She gave up trying to figure out where she was, and leaned forward against the wall.  Maybe if she just waited here a while, let the darkness spin around her, she'd figure it out.  Or the nightmare would end.

            Scuffling footfalls drifted to her ears, growing steadily louder and more intent.  She closed her eyes tightly, unable to flee if she tried.

            Then, a disapproving male voice, "Made a spectacle of yourself enough for one night, Kathryn?"

            A chill came over her.  She focused her eyes, unseeing, on the ground.

            He continued in a cool and impersonal tone, "You know, it took me a while to find you.  You covered your tracks like a professional-- I have to give you credit for that."

            She clenched her fists against the wall, and drew in a ragged breath, refusing to turn.  In a hoarse voice,  "I just needed to get away for a while; can't you give me that?"

            She heard him step closer, and then felt his breath lightly on the back of her neck.  "Need, need...  If I indulged your every whim, Kathryn, I imagine I'd find myself locked in a cell in Auckland before the day was out."  She felt his fingertips brushing hair from her neck, tickling her flesh.  He added in a lower, huskier tone,  "Isn't that right?"

            "Auckland?" she said between gritted teeth.  "That's too gentle a fate.  I'd send you straight to Cardassia."

            She heard him chuckle dryly behind her, with little mirth.  The fingers slowed on her skin, and spread around to clutch the back of her neck in a vaguely threatening gesture that sent goose bumps down her arms.

            "I think it's time we went home, dear."

            The hand around her neck squeezed a little, urging her around.  Kathryn followed his directives unsteadily, fighting against the whirling in her head.

            "I have to say, you surprised me," he spoke up from against her back as she staggered down the street.  "If all you wanted was a raw fuck and a hangover, I could easily have arranged it for you."

            He cheapened her motives with a few short words, and she felt choked by sudden rage.  Not for the first time, she thought of killing this man, and felt impotent fury burning through her at the knowledge that she couldn't.  By God, if she'd met him in the Delta Quadrant--

            "Honestly, though, Kathryn, I thought you were above these baser instincts."

            She balled her hands, trembling with anger, into tight fists at her sides.  "It's useless to explain to you," she said in a hard voice.  Then, searching for the proper invective, she spat, "You pig-headed _fuck_!"

            "Easy, easy darling," his hand patted her on the shoulder.  "Methinks the alcohol's drawing out the Irish in you.  We're about to enter a public transporter pad.  Won't do for you to cause a scene, will it?"

            She bit back her retort to that as voices slowly came into earshot.  His hand loosened around her neck, and slipped casually around her shoulders, holding her steady.  Automatically, she fumbled to clutch his waist as they entered the public transporter room.

            Immediately, the two attendants, young men with Lieutenant's pips, shot to attention.  Then recognition came across the young men's faces.

            "Admiral Janeway!  Admiral Durant!"

            Kathryn smiled weakly as Durant drew a step forward, hand extended to the nearest young officer.

            "Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant--"

            "Bhat, sir.  Lamar Bhat."

            The other chimed in as John Durant shook his hand,  "Freddy Perkins."

            "I guess you two recognize my wife, Kathryn?" Durant gestured to Janeway.

            As he shook hands with her, Bhat nodded his head.  "You'd have to be in another quadrant not to!" he caught himself, and said,  "All respect intended, ma'am."

            She inclined her head once, too weary to dwell on his words.

            Durant grinned broadly at the two young men.  "Slow night, gentlemen?"

            "Oh, yes sir.  No one likes to come to Paris in this weather," Lieutenant Bhat replied quickly.

            "Well, Kathryn's always been fond of the cold.  Isn't that right, hon?"

            Janeway forced a smile across her lips, hoping she didn't look as ill as she suddenly felt.  "That's right, darling."

            "So, Admirals, what destination?"  Lieutenant Perkins asked, stepping behind the transporter pad.

            Durant put out an arm to help Kathryn up the platform in a show of chivalry.  In truth, he was making sure she didn't stumble and make a fool of them both.

            "San Francisco, my good man."

            Lieutenant Perkins began to tap in the coordinates, but before he energized, Lieutenant Bhat called,  "Admiral Durant!"

            "Lieutenant?" Durant said mildly, a light smile on his face.

            "Sir," Bhat seemed somewhat flustered.  "I know it's probably not my place to ask, but are the rumors true you're running for President?"

            Durant grinned.  "Two things, son.  First, as a Federation citizen, it's always your place to ask.  And second... I guess we'll have to wait and see, eh?"

            Bhat gazed up at him with admiration, and Kathryn felt sheer, unadulterated disgust.  "Well, sir, regardless of what happens, know you'll always have my vote.  A vote for Durant is a vote for the future, eh, sir?"

            Durant nodded austerely.  "Thank you, Lieutenant.  Good officers like you keep the Federation strong."  Then, with a plaster smile at the other Lieutenant, he called, "Energize."

            Perkins tapped in the appropriate code, and the Paris platform faded into oblivion around them.

*          *          *

            "I honestly don't know what she was thinking," Durant's harsh voice came to her over the pounding in her temples.  She tried to shut the voice out.  If she could fall asleep again, she might hide from the rolling in her stomach and the pain tearing through her head.

            "Did you have a disagreement?"  Asked the cool voice of Empek.

            "Nothing worse than the usual.  She didn't want to go to the Voyager reunion, I didn't force her to.  I didn't think she'd run off to some bar and offer her cunt to the first sleazebag who'd buy her a drink."

            Kathryn pressed her arms over her ears, squeezing her eyes tightly, pained and thoroughly humiliated.  She truly had wanted to drink enough to forget her problems for awhile.  She hadn't been after "a raw fuck and a hangover."  What's worse is that Durant undoubtedly knew he'd awoken her; he knew she could hear him.  He usually met with Empek in his office; there was no need to speak with him over the com in Kathryn's room unless he wanted her to hear.

            "How's damage control?" Durant asked.

            "I've taken care of the witnesses," Empek replied in that business tone of his.  "A healthy deposit into two accounts, and a promise of a future deposit.  The third was slightly more... uncooperative.  I regret that he had to be taken care of."

            Durant chuckled.  In a teasing voice, he said,  "You old dog-- you don't regret that."

            "Perhaps not," Empek acknowledged.  "But pleasurable work aside, it would help if you reigned in your wife from these... impulses of hers.  I can't take care of it every time."

            "I'll keep a closer eye on her.  She always slips away when I'm busy," Durant sighed heavily, as if the weight of the universe were on his shoulders.  "Kathryn...  Jesus.  She's gone without a good fuck for... what is it, nine years now?  God knows," Durant continued.  "Maybe I'd better start screwing the bitch, keep her happy."

            She stiffened, and tried to raise her voice in objection, but a sudden wave of nausea at her slight movement suppressed the urge.  It wouldn't do her any good, anyway.

            She remembered early in the marriage when he'd actually tried to assert his 'rights' as her husband.  She'd returned to her chamber after a particularly trying reception, and he'd staggered in uninvited, half drunk.  Durant had groped wildly for a few minutes, even managed to knock her down beneath him before she grabbed his crotch and wrenched hard enough to double him over.  He'd limped away like a whipped cur, and hadn't dared touch her since.  He didn't mind his henchmen doing dirty business for him, but he'd never put himself in harm's way.

            Kathryn knew that Durant wouldn't dare lower himself in the eyes of Empek by requesting help in subduing a woman half his size.  He'd disassociated himself with her instead.  Since that incident, he'd taken every opportunity to insult her appearance, referring to her as an "old hag" or making an offhand comment about a thick stomach-- as though to prove to her and his associate that he didn't sleep with her because he found her unattractive.   As relieved as she was that he kept his paws off of her, a part of her felt the sting of his remarks.  At 45, she was a few years younger than him than him, and her body was as firm and slim as it was when she was in her 20s, but a part of her had even begun to believe his derogatory comments.  She started to see saggy breasts where there were none, a heavy waist where she was still petite.  She became acutely aware of  her age.  When her hunger raged, she increasingly found herself settling with coffee out of an unreasonable fear of weight gain.

            And as time passed, Kathryn began to wonder if she'd even have the ability to fight Durant off if he tried again.  Despite her bravado, she was painfully aware of her slipping ground in the arrangement.  She did her best to hide it from him, knowing he would exploit her weaknesses for all they were worth, but there were times that she felt she'd been exposed for what she'd become.  There were times when she swore he saw her vulnerability.

            Times like last week.

            Her eyes pricked with tears, but she blinked them back.  It would do her no good to dwell on that.  Five of Voyager's crewmembers, crewmembers she'd never see again.  Tal Celes, Ken Dalby, Megan Delaney, Jenny Delaney, Mortimer Harren.  They'd all died within one week.  A "latent retro-virus".  What a joke.

            The reunion was going to double as a memoriam to those who'd recently passed.  She knew how it must have looked to her crew when she'd skipped the event, but she couldn't face them.  She knew she'd been responsible for those deaths, and it would be outright hypocrisy to stand before them and weave an intricate tribute to five people she might as well have killed with her own hand. 

            Durant announced that he wanted to be a father.  A politician has to be a family man to look credible, he'd told her.  She'd outright refused his demand, telling him that she'd never inflict the galaxy with a spawn of Jonathan Durant. He assured her that she could get pregnant via surgical means-- no penetration required.  He assured her the thought of her naked repulsed him anyway.  She still refused.

            The next day, a padd had arrived at her office.

**Crewman Tal Celes**

**Crewman Kenneth Dalby**

**Ensign Megan Delaney**

**Ensign Jennifer Delaney**

**Crewman Mortimer Harren**

            And then Janeway received word, one by one, of their deaths from a mysterious, latent virus, likely picked up in the Delta Quadrant.  Each transmission she received sickened her, because she knew exactly what transmission she'd receive next... exactly who else would fall victim.

            Durant called her into his office at the end of the week, Voyager's crew manifest displayed prominently on the screen behind him.  Empek stood impassively at Durant's side.  On the other screen was a Doctor from a local fertility clinic.  Durant asked for her decision about the baby, beaming, putting on the show of a hopeful father-to-be for the fertility doctor.  Defeated, and shaken with grief, Janeway attested to her desire for children to the Doctor.  Durant smiled at her in that patronizing way the whole time, wrapping an arm around her waist to give the doctor a good image.  They set up an appointment for the following week.  When the transmission cut off, Durant stroked his hand fondly on her rear, as though his favorite pet had performed some trick.

            "I knew you'd be a good girl, Kathryn."

            Janeway saw red.  Rage, hot and potent, flooded her as she thought of those crewmen, and the words ripped from her lips,  "*You bastard!*"

            Her fist lanced towards him as if by instinct.  With inhuman speed, Empek shot forward and caught her arm.  Janeway tried to jolt back out of his grip, but Empek wrenched her arm up at a sickening angle.  There was nothing for a split second, and then Janeway felt an unbearable surge of pain shoot up her arm.  A guttural cry escaped her lips as Empek coldly jerked her arm again, forcing her to crouch on her knees to avoid the bone breaking.

            Durant watched it all impassively from his desk.  He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing Kathryn's pain-filled features as Empek held her on her knees.

            "That wasn't very nice of her, was it, Empek?" Durant said coldly. 

            "It was not.  Apologize to Admiral Durant," Empek intoned.

            Janeway heaved in breath for a few moments, fighting the pain, battling her own humiliation.  Empek wrenched on her arm again, and a pained gasp escaped her lips.

            "Apologize."

            One good jerk was all he needed to tear the bone right out of its socket.  And he was strong enough to do it.

            Kathryn raised her head to meet Durant's eye.  "John..." her voice came out ragged and strained.

            He smiled at her, a little patronizing.  "Yes, Kathryn?"

            Her voice dripped with contempt.  "Eat shit and die."

            The words were barely out of her mouth when she felt Empek twist her arm all the way, and the pain exploded over her.  When she looked back on it, she could swear she had heard the bone breaking and the ligaments tearing.  But at the time, the pain was so great it sent her to the floor, clamping her mouth over a scream, hearing it come out as a pained moan.  She could barely even hear Empek ask Durant,  "Would you like me to break the other arm?"

            Durant watched Kathryn, in agony on the floor, for a long moment, debating.  Then,  "No, that's enough, Empek.  The Vulcan attaché has a reception tomorrow... I need her to be somewhat collected by then.  You know flaky she gets after a little talking to."

            A talking to.  She'd grown to hate those words.

            Her body was trembling with pain as Empek pulled her to her feet, and she hated that there were tears streaming down her face.  He hauled her rather unceremoniously down the hall, and she threw every insult she could at Durant's lackey.  He ignored her as though her words simply bounced off of him.

            Kathryn didn't know if he was human, as he appeared to be, or an alien, as she suspected he was.  She did know, however, that he was a monster.  She told him so in elaborately colorful language each time he helped Durant 'talk to her.'  He was impervious to her taunts.  He deposited her in the infirmary of Durant's personal physician and left without slinging an insult in return.  But he didn't need to insult, did he? Kathryn reflected.  He was the one who'd just broken an arm.

            "Lie back, Admiral Janeway," came the cold voice of Doctor Tondra.  Kathryn felt a hand on her shoulder urging her onto her back, and she let herself be pushed down.  The tall, slim African woman deftly cut away the arm of Janeway's uniform jacket.  Then she raised her tricorder and studied the readings with cold, dark eyes.  When she wrapped her hands around Kathryn's upper arm, Janeway almost pulled away, doubtful.

            "I have to set the bone," Tondra told her impatiently.  Janeway gritted her teeth, and felt a short stab of pain when Tondra jerked her arm back into place.  She couldn't choke back a cry of pain.  Doctor Tondra looked up when she heard it, and Kathryn saw thinly veiled contempt in the dark woman's eyes.

            "You'd make it far easier on yourself if you simply cooperated with him," Tondra said.

            Janeway watched the other woman as she began to knit her bone.  Kathryn asked,  "Is that what you'd do?"

            "I certainly wouldn't show your insubordination," Tondra's eyes flickered up to Janeway's.  "He has noble goals."

            "He wants to be President of the Federation," Janeway spat.  "Lust for power is hardly noble." 

            "You don't know him."

            Doctor Tondra turned away, and Janeway watched her.  Early on, Kathryn had thought the Doctor might be a sympathetic friend in this situation.  As the other female in the loop, and a silent witness to Durant and Empek's brutality, Kathryn thought she'd be able to forge some common ground.  But from the beginning, Tondra made it clear where her loyalties lay.  She'd since realized that the good Doctor was as much a collaborator in some of Durant's more dubious activities as Empek was.

            "Do you have a pain killer?" Janeway asked, all too aware of the continued ache in her newly healed bones. 

            Tondra turned cold eyes on her.  "I was instructed not to give you one.  A sedative, if you like?"

            Janeway shook her head.

            "In that case, I have work to take care of.  You're healed."

            Doctor Tondra turned away with those words, and Kathryn was suddenly glad she had not conceded to Durant and disowned the EMH as her physician.  Very glad.

            Lying in her bed now, suffering from her hangover, Kathryn thought it best not to go to that woman.  A hangover was more pleasant than dealing with the other woman's contempt.

            She became aware of Durant's eyes on her, and realized that he'd cut off his transmission with Empek.  Kathryn shut her eyes and tried to still her breathing, attempted not to move.  Maybe he'd think she was still asleep.

            She heard his footsteps on the carpet as he approached the bedside.  Her body tensed as he lowered himself onto the side, the bed springs creaking under his added weight.  She could feel him lean over, closer and closer.  She sensed that his face was just inches from her, and her control left her.  Her eyes snapped open and she tried to pull back, but he caught her chin in his hand.

            Her breath left her, and she lay there anxiously, waiting for his move.  His eyes were dark and unfathomable, and Kathryn couldn't tell whether he was planning to choke her or kiss her.  But then his grip on her eased up, and a smile came across his sharp, classically handsome features.

            "Must be quite a headache you've got there," he said jovially, the warmth of his smile echoing in his voice.  He reached over to the night stand, produced a cup of coffee.  "I thought you might like this."

            Kathryn watched him warily as she pushed herself up in the bed and took the cup from his hands.  His expression was cheerful, but she knew how deceptive looks were on him.  Whatever he was planning, he never gave an outward indication.

            Her eyes slipped close as she took a deep sip of the coffee, feeling endorphins automatically kick in.  Her rolling stomach was almost instantly calm, and the headache eased up in severity.

            Kathryn was aware of his hand running lightly up and down her arm.  "I forget sometimes just how hard I'm pushing you," he said in a warm voice.  "You care about those people deeply.  It was foolish of me to think you'd just snap back from last week." 

            She opened her eyes looked at him, and the expression in his hazel eyes seemed to plead for friendship.

            "I know the past two years have been rough on you," he gave her a smile.  "Kathryn, you have to understand," he continued in a friendly tone,  "Things between us could be different.  So very different.  I think we're both out for the good of the Federation.  We could help each other."

            "If you--" she stopped then, surprised by how hoarse and gravelly her voice sounded.

            He took advantage of her pause to continue,  "We don't have to be enemies."  He raised his hand up to caress her cheek, and she stiffened.  Unperturbed, he continued,  "We could help each other.  Just let me do all the work, honey.  You don't have to have the weight of the world on your shoulders."

            "Let you do all the work?" Janeway cut in, eyes flashing.  She pulled away from his caress.  "Drop the pretense.  You're asking me to let you have all the control."

            "Not that.  Not that!" he said appealingly.  "There's plenty you can do.  I _want _you to have responsibility.  I made you an Admiral, didn't I?"

            "You made me a glorified secretary," Janeway shot back.  "And we both know that promotion was just for show."

            Ignoring her, he continued,  "Kathryn, when I'm president, you'll be the most influential woman in the Federation.  I can do that for you.  All I've ever wanted you to do for me in return is attend receptions, put in face time.  I know you can do that."  He looked at her appealingly.  "Kathryn, I will do all the grudge work.  All I ask is that you cooperate."

            "All the grudge work?"

            "Of course."

            "So," she said coldly,  "Are you going to carry the baby to term in _your _body?"

            He laughed at her.  "Kathryn, your sense of humor."

            "It's hardly a medical impossibility.  I certainly don't want to be stuck with the job," she snapped back.

            He reached out a hand to caress her abdomen.  "I'm sure you'll feel differently once you're underway."

            "Doubtful."

            "Mothers always grow to love their children."

            "Their children don't usually have your genetic material in them."

            He sighed, showing the first signs of impatience.  His hand rested heavily on her abdomen.  "What is it I can do for you, Kathryn?  What the hell do you want?"

            She cocked her head to the side.  "A divorce."

            He gazed at her a second, then scoffed.  "I should have realized you'd be an unreasonable bitch."

            She slapped his hand away from her, and tried to roll off the other side of the bed.  He clamped his hand around her arm and yanked her back down, painfully, pressing her back into the headboard.  The good humor was gone.  He suddenly looked  menacing

            "Now listen," he hissed.  "I've tried to be diplomatic with you, I've tried to reason with you.  It comes to this.  No more stunts.  You pull something like last night again and I swear I'll have half your crew exterminated before the sun rises again.  Do you understand that?"

            Her eyes glittered with anger, and he shook her hard.  "Do you!?"

            "Yes," she said through clenched teeth.

            He drew back a little, his eyes raking her face.  "Good."  He pulled back completely, and rose to his feet.  "Good.  Just needed language you can understand."

            She looked away from him, simmering.  Her headache pulsed within her skull.

            "I called you in sick to Starfleet Command," he informed her.  "Just sleep it off."

            She was still glaring at the wall when he turned and walked out the door. 


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three 

            Chakotay folded his arms on his lap, shifting impatiently in his chair.  After months in the great outdoors, the sterile, Starfleet Command waiting rooms felt stifling.  He scanned the bare, gray wall, and wondered how security could be so important to these admirals that they didn't mind the absence of windows.  He'd go mad spending eighty hours a week without a view port to the outside universe.

            He fumbled for something to occupy himself with during his break, and picked up his Data Padd again to reexamine his proposal, checking for flaws.  An old Maquis acquaintance, now CEO of his own cargo company, had requested Chakotay's help in bringing a trading route proposal to Starfleet's attention.  Unlike Chakotay, many former Maquis were not in good standing with the fleet, his acquaintance included.  His acquaintance had offered him a captaincy in return for Chakotay's assistance in the matter.  Although Chakotay was initially uninterested, after a few months planet bound, he  found himself longing for the adventure of space again.

            So he was back here at Starfleet Command, in the halls he once vowed he'd never walk again.  He half expected to run into Kathryn Janeway around every turn in the corridors, but thus far, he was relieved (disappointed?) that he had yet to encounter her.

            The receptionist emerged from the inner office, a cheerful-looking blonde with an Ensign's rank.

            "Mr. Chakotay?  Admiral Durant will see you now."

_Durant?  Perfect,_ Chakotay thought sullenly, recognizing the name.  Janeway's husband.  Possibly the future president of the Federation.  He knew Durant was the chair of the Trade Committee, but he'd hoped he wouldn't deal with him personally.

            Strangely, though, a part of him was morbidly curious to see this man as he followed the receptionist to one of the gray doors in the empty hallway.  She punched in a code, and the door slid open.  The ensign stepped aside to let Chakotay into the room.

            Chakotay was immediately blinded by the white light streaming in from a large window overlooking the central courtyard.  He squinted his eyes against the sudden glare to make out the other man's face. 

            "Ah, Commander Chakotay.  John Durant."  Chakotay reached out to clasp the extended hand.  Durant's clear, hazel eyes locked with Chakotay's, and the two men took a moment to sum each other up.    Durant was slightly taller than Chakotay, with a hint of frailty in his long, sinewy physique.  He had a thick crop of sandy brown hair just graying at the temples.   He was handsome in a conventional way-- symmetrical features, an aquiline nose, straight forehead, tanned skin.  The smile on his lips seemed very friendly and exceedingly false.  Chakotay disliked him instantly.

            "It's a pleasure to meet you, Admiral.  I've heard a lot about you."

            Durant's laugh was rich and deep.  "Don't believe everything you hear, Commander."

            Chakotay nodded, and offered,  "I didn't realize I was meeting with you personally."

            An easy smile playing at Durant's mouth.  "I admit it's unconventional, but I've heard quite a deal about you.  I believe you're acquainted with my wife, Kathryn."

            Chakotay made an effort to keep the smile on his lips.

            Durant continued, "I couldn't pass up the chance to meet one of her Voyager colleagues.  I'm quite an admirer of your crew... forging your way back to the Alpha Quadrant against incredible odds..."

            "Thank you, Admiral, but most of the credit should go to Cap-- Admiral Janeway."

            "She's a remarkable woman, isn't she?"  Durant said.

            _Do you even realize I haven't talked to her in a year_? Chakotay thought incredulously as he replied,  "That she is, Admiral."  Then, for good measure,  "You're a lucky man."

            "That's what I tell myself every day."  Durant smiled again, then circled around behind his desk.  "Please, take a seat, Mr. Chakotay."

            Chakotay sat down, and Durant picked up a padd, and his eyebrows drew together as he studied it.

            "So, I understand you have a proposal for a new trade route.  This cargo company... what's it called?"

            "Brenner and Associates, Admiral," Chakotay replied.

            "Hmm... small businesses.  I'm very much in support of small companies.  Times are increasingly difficult, aren't they, Mr. Chakotay? What with Orion monopoly--"

            Chakotay watched this all curiously.  "Forgive me, Admiral, but shouldn't I be meeting with the Trade Committee to discuss this?"

            "The Trade Committee?"  Durant looked up at him, then laughed with easy arrogance.  "Mr. Chakotay, as far as you're concerned, I am the Trade Committee.  I hold the ranking seat, my wife holds one of the seats, and," he leaned in closer, eyes twinkling, "_confidentially_, of course, Nechayev and I have a certain understanding... I make and break those votes."

            "I see," Chakotay said quietly, digesting the Admiral's lofty assertion.

            "But you needn't concern yourself, Chakotay-- may I call you Chakotay?"  Chakotay nodded once.  Durant continued,  "Chakotay, I know, more than anyone, the benefits small companies bring to the lives of every day Federation citizens-- jobs, variety, quality.  It's a travesty that large companies dominate most trade routes!  If I can do anything to help the common man, the employees of small-time cargo companies--"

            _Gods.  He's rehearsing his political jargon on me_, Chakotay thought as he smiled and nodded a few times.  Durant continued his spiel against monopolistic and univeralization practices, then came to,  "--so how about I take this to some of my stellar cartographers, and we'll get back to you about this proposed route?"

             He was grasping at the padd in Chakotay's hand, and Chakotay relinquished it.

            "We've had a few stellar cartographers evaluate it already," Chakotay said.  "They found no flaws."

            "It's protocol, Chakotay.  I'm sure it checks out perfectly... but it saves us some paperwork, and you know lawyers."  Durant laughed, shaking his head, then tucked the padd in his desk, and said,  "You should hear from us within 48 hours."

            Durant rose to his feet.  Cue to leave.

            Chakotay stood as well.  As he reached out to shake hands with Durant again, Durant's comm badge chirped.

            "Admiral Durant, your wife just walked past--"

            The door opened before the receptionist could finish her statement, and Durant said,  "That's all right, Maddie."  He watched the entrance intently, his expression suddenly cool and unreadable.

            Chakotay turned to see Kathryn Janeway charge into the room, her bright auburn hair pulled back tightly in a bun, her face pale and proud.  Her eyes were locked on Durant like death rays when she began in a hiss,  "Just so you know--"  She noticed the companion, and in a suddenly forced, light tone,  turning to look at Chakotay, "Oh, I--"

            Then recognition flooded her face, and the words halted.  Chakotay could hear his heart pounding as their gazes clashed, and his throat constricted sharply.  He could see shock and dismay in her eyes.  She looked frail; she'd lost weight.  Far too much weight.  Her features were harder than he remembered (how was that possible, here in the Alpha Quadrant?)-- her lips a thin, tight line, her cheeks concave and sallow, her eyes sharp, suspicious, and strangely bloodshot.

            Durant was regarding her with interest and apprehension.  "Kathryn, I believe you're acquainted with my guest," Durant said.  There was a surprising edge to his voice now, and Chakotay noticed Durant scrutinizing her intently.

            Janeway's eyes were locked on Chakotay, shocked beyond guile.  He saw her swallow once, then blink rapidly a few times, struggling to recover her composure.  "Chakotay.  What a surprise," she murmured in a hollow voice.

            _Try not to sound too enthusiastic, Kathryn_, Chakotay thought sarcastically, and with the same lack of warmth, he intoned flatly, "It's good to see you, Admiral."

            She looked like a waif.  He'd never seen her so thin, even early in their Delta Quadrant journey.  Even her voice sounded weaker, lacking the conviction and power he associated with her.

            "You're meeting with the Trade Committee, then?"  she seemed to fumble for words, then looked to Durant uncertainly, and then back to Chakotay.  She avoided eye contact; her gaze was focused on some point above him.  An empty laugh.  "I suppose I should keep closer track of the committee agenda... I wouldn't have called in sick today."

            Oh, but she would have.  He could see her dismay at meeting him.  Embarrassment, shame; she refused to lock eyes with him.

            On the other hand, her husband seemed quite satisfied with the turn in events.  His chest was puffed with a new confidence, his voice strangely vital.  "It's fortunate you're feeling better than you were this morning, honey.  And what a delightful coincidence!" Durant said.  "Perhaps you could dine with us some evening, Mr. Chakotay?  How does tonight sound?"

            Janeway grew even paler, seeming to sway on her feet, and Chakotay fleetingly thought that Durant was gloating.

            "Really. You must," Janeway put in lifelessly.  She shot another wary glance at Durant, her eyes sharp, cold.  Durant didn't acknowledge her discomfort; he continued to smile genially.

            Chakotay marveled at the strange the interplay between the two.  If some petty, resentful part of him had wished her ill, it looked like his wish had come true.  There was no love here, no affection that he could see.  Such a chill in the room, such underlying hostility.  And she looked horrible, downright unhealthy.  He wouldn't be surprised if her legs buckled under her.

            "Thank you for the invitation," Chakotay replied, forcing himself to sound natural.  "But I'm not on Earth for very long, and I have other engagements scheduled."

            The relief that washed over Janeway's face was so blatant, so unconcealed, that a slightly vengeful Chakotay was tempted to change his mind and accept the invitation after all.  Just tempted, though.  She'd burned him, but he wasn't going to justify her cruelty by resorting to pettiness.

            Durant clicked his tongue to express disappointment, and then slapped Chakotay on the back, the fake smile on his face.

            "A pity.  I truly would love to meet more of Kathryn's friends."

            Chakotay smiled blandly at him.  "Well, I've never known Admiral Janeway to be particularly social."

            Janeway smiled weakly at that.

            Durant laughed.  "Truer words were never spoken.  She doesn't get out of the office nearly enough!"

            Janeway's smile had faded as quickly as it had come.

            Durant continued, "Well, then, Chakotay, another time.  Thanks for stopping by."

            "Thank you for considering my proposal.  Have a good day, Admiral."  Chakotay nodded to Janeway,  "Admiral."  As he walked past them towards the door, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Janeway stood stock still, frozen as he passed.  Durant, for his part, just looked exceedingly smug.

*          *          *

            Janeway turned back to her husband after Chakotay left, feeling her heart pound in her chest.  Her head whirled, and her hangover felt suddenly more pronounced.  She hadn't been prepared for that-- not for Chakotay, not today.  She'd fought her nausea and pulled herself out of bed to prove something to herself, to prove something to her much-loathed husband.  All that effort, only to be confronted by a sight that had dominated her nightmares.  Chakotay and Durant, two men who did not belong in the same universe as each other, much less in the same room.  The sight of them together was unnatural and ominous.  She'd spent the last several minutes fighting her rising panic.

            "Why did you invite him here?" Her voice was calmer she'd expected, but her thoughts were still urgent.  Did Durant know about the last reunion?  Had he hacked into her original personal logs?  Had he guessed her true feelings for Chakotay?

            "Actually, he invited himself," Durant said, seeming to watch for any uncertainty that might play across her features.  "It may come as a surprise to you, Kathryn, but your former criminal friend actually has legitimate business with the Trade Committee."

            She could tell he was being honest, and her body sagged as her fear faded.  It was nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Chakotay was safe.

            "You've always said you hate the man," Durant continued.  "I was curious to see what about him, exactly, merits such disdain.  I rather liked the fellow, myself."

            "Did you?  I suppose that's why you tried force me into dining with him.".

            "I felt sorry for the guy.  Another poor chap on the wrong side of Kathryn Janeway's affections." His tone was teasing.  

            "I didn't spend seven years trying to escape that man just to get entangled in his affairs now,"  she replied seriously.  She wasn't feeling generous enough today to fake camaraderie with Durant, and certainly not over a subject so close to home.

            "Does it bother you to see him?"

            She knew better than to answer that honestly.  "I couldn't care less."  Her voice was sharper than she'd intended, but it conveyed the proper disdain.  

            "Well, he seemed pretty cold around you, as well.  Broken heart, I suppose.  Empek claims he seemed rather taken with you in his personal logs."

            Janeway raised a sharp eyebrow at the invasion of Chakotay's privacy, but she knew she should not have expected anything else.  Everyone who met with Durant, or with her, had a thorough background check; no stone was left unturned.  Empek was methodical in his duties.  

            "Well," Janeway said quietly, circling around Durant to sit down, feeling her confidence rise,  "Mr. Chakotay has an infinite capacity for self delusion.  He always could convince himself of one lie or another.  I never had it in me to hurt him.  No one could have realized my relief when he focused his delusions on Seven of Nine." 

            Durant chuckled, impressed with her heart for falsehood.  "Well, I'm not going to ask you to like him, Kathryn, but I'm going to ask you to tolerate him for just a few days."

            She halted her step, curious and ill at ease.  "Oh?"

            Durant was already tapping at the padd, his eyes feverishly studying the data recorded on it.  He'd already forgotten her.  "You know I've been having trouble with the business sector, and your wayward admirer is the perfect showcase."  He smiled wryly.  "John Durant-- friend of the working man...  Opening up new sectors of space to small businesses."

            At her blank look, he elaborated,  "I'll grant this proposal... in fact, I'll give them access to even another trade route.  We'll make a show of it-- invite the press, hold the ceremony on a Federation star base.  It will be an incredible spectacle-- good publicity."

            "And what does this have to do with me?"

            "You'll be the loving, supportive wife... looking on proudly."

            "Naturally," she muttered.  She absently twirled an antique stylus on the edge of his desk. 

            "It would raise questions if you weren't there," Durant added, watching the movement of her thin fingers.  "He is your former Voyager colleague."  He took a step closer.  "Can you do this for me, Kathryn?  Smile, nod, that's all.  Nothing more than I've asked of you."

            "Do I have a choice?" she shot back tartly.  She turned on her heels and left the office.  

*          *          *

            A week later, Kathryn's resolve faltered.

            She was scheduled to meet her husband at the fertility clinic at 0900 hours, but something stopped her.  

            A baby.  Jesus Christ, a baby.  She was going to be a brood mare for a potential dictator.  She was going to have his baby.

            The fear halted her step midway, and sent her fleeing back to the subway, where she ripped off her comm badge and on a whim took the direct line to Saint Petersburg.  No way in hell was she going to step foot in that fertility clinic today.  No way in hell.

            She spent the rest of the day wandering through the spacious, tourist-friendly streets of the Russian city, trying to distract herself from the reality that loomed closer to her every day.  She realized that there was no escaping Durant.  He had people everywhere; he could find her if she dyed her skin, colored her hair, and resequenced her DNA. She could never hope to charter a flight away from Earth, and even if she could, she knew she'd be sacrificing members of her crew for the sake of momentary freedom.

            They were still her crew.  Even with two years' distance, and a wider emotional estrangement, they were Her Crew.  And she couldn't leave them to die.  She knew he would kill them all without a qualm of conscience if she divorced him tomorrow.

            By the time she returned to San Francisco, it was too late to schedule another appointment at the fertility clinic before the Free Trade Gala on Deep Space Seven.  Empek was waiting to express Durant's displeasure at her absence.  Just a friendly talking to.

            By the time she'd sufficiently healed to return to duty, nearly five days later, it was time to depart for the Free Trade Gala.

            She sat in the shuttle, gazing absently out the window as Durant and Empek spoke in hushed voices out of hearing range.  Chakotay would be at Deep Space Seven.  She would have to face him with a straight face and an unassailable emotionless front.  She would have to pretend she hadn't spent nights in agony for the last year, clinging to the memories of their brief, elusive pleasure, stifling the pain of her loneliness.  Hiding the fear-- the fear that he hated her, the fear that she'd give herself away, betray him to Durant, kill him.  The fear that his love would fade forever.  

            And after seeing him the other day, the pain was all the more pronounced.  Chakotay-- looking tan, healthy, and so beautiful to her that she nearly wept.  The man who had once held so much promise for her, who had once inspired so much hope.  For one night, they had something incredible, and that one night would have to sustain her for the rest of her days.  Thinking of him, she felt sick with loss.  She felt like a starving woman, one who had the only source of nourishment dangled in front of her face, then pulled out of her reach.

            _But he can never know.  Never._


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

            Jonathan Durant was not a sentimental man.  He'd always believed that his best days were ahead of him, and chose to look forward towards those days rather than reflect on what had already transpired.  He seldom thought about how he had reached his current position, or his current state of mind, but today he was thinking of a Cardassian he saw over twenty years earlier.  The Cardassian had been young and vicious.  His weapon was hopelessly out of reach, and his leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.  This Cardassian, helpless and alone, flailing on the ground like an animal, snarled and screamed invectives as though he were the one pointing the phaser rifle at the Starfleet officers, and not an injured fool encircled by enemies. 

            Durant was a Commander then, twenty-nine years old, ambitious.  His officers were hardened by months of bloodshed, sick at heart and angry.  They pounced on the injured Cardassian like a pack of starving wolves, releasing their pent up rage on the safest outlet.  Durant said nothing.  He watched them butcher the Cardassian, and relished it on some level, but when one of the officers noticed his interest and cleared way for Durant to deliver a blow of his own, he held back.  He'd never had a taste for delivering violence to another person.  Not by his own hands.

            He remembered those months after he met Kathryn Janeway, after Voyager had returned home from the Delta Quadrant.  He met her two days after Voyager arrived.  He'd seen holovids of her, and he thought her a mildly attractive woman, but it was a different matter in person.  She was radiant, triumphant, alive, and absolutely stunning.  Her eyes danced as she spoke with him, and her voice was mesmerizing.  He couldn't tear his eyes from her.  It satisfied him to learn that she was the rare person with the presence to match her epic achievement.  He read Voyager's mission logs, saw the actions that might burn her name in glory across the history books, and the actions that might bring her down in flames.  But he was not cowed.  He could steer her clear of notoriety.  He could be her guide, and in return, he could share in her glory.  This ambitious, 47-year-old Admiral saw in her his future.

            As the initial honeymoon between Voyager and the Alpha Quadrant died down, fierce debate began within Starfleet's elite circles over Janeway's more questionable actions.  Durant took up the fight on her behalf.  Always a charismatic, persuasive man, he managed to sway the Federation ethics committee in her favor.  He convinced Admirals, old timers who revered the Temporal Prime Directive, friends of the late Captain Rudy Ransom, to back down from their desire to ship her straight to prison.  He charmed the media into romanticizing her in their press reels.  He secured pardons for the Maquis.  In turn, he received Janeway's gratitude, and her friendship.  

            She couldn't comprehend why he was going to such lengths for her, but she was immensely grateful to him for it. He watched as her gratitude overrode her natural skepticism and lowered the guard to her emotions.  She thought him a human being unparallel in his compassion and good nature, and he indulged her beliefs, used them to make entry into her affections.  

            They spent long nights over coffee, talking about life, love, their dreams for the future.  She engaged him, she challenged him, and he even began to fancy himself in love with her. He enthusiastically elucidated his beliefs, his political ambitions.  He began to trust her even with his private vision for the future.  He told her of the society he envisioned-- a United Federation of Planets where the government comprised of appointed Starfleet Admirals.  Starfleet Officers would hold the vote for President.  The presidency would be a strong central figure to keep the fleet in line and control the chaotic elements of the Federation.  He informed her that popular control of government by ignorant civilians had led to the chaos of recent years, because only veteran fighters could truly comprehend the consequences of their actions.  He believed Federation society, devastated by the Dominion War and dissention within, was ready now for a change.

            She laughed at him.

            "You're practically proposing a military dictatorship, John.  It will never happen," she said off-handedly, lifting her coffee mug casually up to her lips.  He started to defend his assertions, trying to sway her opinion, but the smirk never left her.  He realized then that she wasn't taking him seriously.  He watched her with mounting dismay as she brushed off his vision as though it were mere coffee talk, his ambitions as though he were a typical university intellectual-- out of touch with reality.  He saw she didn't care about or believe in his aspirations.  After all he'd done for her, she didn't care.

            He was further galvanized when he found out from Nechayev that Admiral Paris was warning Janeway away from him, expressing his 'unease' with regards to Durant.  Durant had never liked Paris, nor Paris Durant, and he resented that Janeway seemed have a new barrier of caution towards him after Paris's words.  It had not been Paris who saved her crew from a prison term; it had not been Paris who had swayed those tense council votes; it had not been Paris who elevated her into legendary status.   Who the hell was she to listen to Paris over him?  She owed Paris nothing.  She owed him _everything_.

            But his anger always subsided, and he continued to admire the idea of Kathryn Janeway, the possibilities she opened for him, if not the actual woman herself.  They'd known each other three months when he kissed her.

            She froze for a moment, her lips cold and lifeless against his, then jerked back.  He opened his eyes to see her gazing at him with dismay.

            "I'm sorry, John... I care about you very much, but not in that way."

            He was not a violent man.  He could have raped her.  They were alone in his house.  No one could have heard her scream.  He held her eyes for a long moment and toyed with the thought.

            Then, "I'm sorry for my presumption, Kathryn."

            She smiled.  At the pity in her eyes, he felt a sudden surge of hatred.  He could imagine the power she thought she had in her ability to spurn him.  She didn't realize that her dignity was intact only at his grace, her power accorded her only at his mercy, her strength at his indulgence.  He calmed her unease, but there was malice behind his smiles, because she would advance him in society, willing or no.

            He had a vague acquaintance with Empek, the agent from the Orion Syndicate who had approached him with an offer of friendship upon his promotion to the Admiralty.  He hadn't rejected the offer outright, but he hadn't accepted it, either, knowing the price the Syndicate's friendship carried if he did not satisfy their expectations.  He was inclined now to rethink the offer.  He wished her a good night as the future clarified before him.

            Empek was within his service two days later, and within the week Janeway's mother and sister met with unfortunate, grisly accidents five sectors away from each other, exactly one hour apart.  When she'd had just enough time to learn of the deaths, Empek burst in on her and hauled her, distraught and shaken, to Durant's residence.  Empek held her kneeling in front of Durant while he lay down the law, letting her know her place, giving her a taste of his power.  He didn't have to claim responsibility for her family; she put two and two together and flew into a mindless rage.  She tried to get at him, flailing wildly against Empek's grip, cursing him, screaming with rage and despair.  She finally weakened in her struggles, and overcome with tears, she sobbed,  "I'll kill you.  You'll pay for this, I swear."

            "You could kill me, Kathryn.  I'm sure you're perfectly capable of that.  You could even report me to the authorities," Durant told her mildly.  "However, my colleagues at the Orion Syndicate wouldn't take it very well.  Isn't that right, Empek?"  

            Her eyes shot up to meet his, and she was suddenly stiff in Empek's grasp.  He'd caught her attention.  Everyone knew to stay clear of the Orion Syndicate, the crime organization with tentacles in every government and organization of modern society.

            "We would not be happy," Empek confirmed in a voice that betrayed no emotion, and no loss of breath from his struggles with her.  "It could be very unfortunate for you if Admiral Durant were exposed.  It could be unfortunate for your friends."

            For her friends.  Empek must have found the magic words, because her bravado suddenly crumbled.  "They have nothing to do with this.  Please.  Leave them alone," she pleaded urgently.

            Durant felt a flash of pity at the uncharacteristic entreaty, but Empek was admirably unyielding.  He continued to pinion her arms at that unnatural angle, holding her on her knees, staring unblinkingly down at her with dark, impassive eyes.

            "Your friends are safe as long as Admiral Durant has your full cooperation."

            She must have stopped struggling, because Empek abruptly released his grip and pushed her back into a chair.  She made no attempt to move.  Her face was pale, her entire facade of strength dashed on the rocks.  Her eyes glazed over, as though she comprehended the gravity of her new situation for the first time.

            After a long silence, she asked in a tired, resigned voice,  "Why are you doing this, John?  I was gone for seven years...  I just wanted peace.  I just wanted to be with my family--" her voice caught, and he could see raw pain in her eyes.

            "You owe me," he reminded her firmly, unmoved.  "After all I've done to help you, you can't justify denying me a small favor."

            Her voice was quiet.  "I never asked you to help me."

            "It's just a small favor, Kathryn.  It always was."

            And at the time, it _was_ a small favor.  There was no thought of marriage or pregnancy yet.  He merely wanted her to appear in public with him, feign affection, get his name in the media spotlight.  He'd realized two days earlier that she wouldn't ever feel genuine affection for him or true political zeal for his cause, so he took the route of coercion. He'd swayed Starfleet behind the scenes for years, and he would not pass up this opportunity to emerge into the light of day.

            Durant noticed a purple and yellow bruise forming around her eye, perhaps from her initial struggle with Empek. His gaze darted up to meet Empek's cold scrutiny, and he felt a fleeting remorse.  But then he reminded himself of his generosity to her; his charm was the only reason she enjoyed her current freedom.  People reverently whispered her name because he'd orchestrated her portrayal as a hero.  And he'd be damned if the ungrateful bitch was going to escape him now.

            _I made you, I can break you,_ he told her silently.  

            He reached out to run his finger along the bruise.  She flinched, but she knew better than to pull away.

*          *            *

            They passed the next few weeks in strained civility.  She complied with his requests, hanging onto his arm in public, smiling at the photo ops, but it was all half-hearted.  Even with her customary captain's mask, she projected utter misery.  The Starfleet brass wrote it off as understandable grief at the recent tragedies.  The media only cared about her blooming relationship with the handsome Admiral Durant.  Durant got his name in the news.  He was satisfied with the course of their partnership thus far.

            He secured a promotion for her and offered it to her as a consolation prize.  She eyed the extra pips disdainfully, unmoved by his gesture.  She might even have refused his offer if he hadn't urged her pointedly to accept.  She accepted the promotion, and was the most sullen person ever promoted at an Admiral's ceremony.

            A month went by during their initial arrangement, and the day came when Empek told him,  "She's plotting something."

            Durant drew in a breath.  "Are you sure?"

            Empek returned his gaze coldly.  "If she's not plotting now, she will be soon.  She's getting a feel for the other officers in Starfleet Command, trying to figure out a way to seek their help without alerting you."  He let Durant digest the implication, and then added,  "It was a mistake to send her back to active service.  You should have forced her to resign."

            Durant scowled.  "I need the influence, another vote on the committees."  He looked at Empek carefully, and asked again,  "Are you absolutely sure about this?"

            "I've observed her.  I've read the logs of her officers.  I know how her mind works,"  Empek noted.  "She does not fear you... a woman who traveled across the galaxy on a path paved with blood. Violence alone won't cow her.  She was staggered by the initial strike, but once her shock wears off, she'll undo you if you don't set about systematically limiting her."

            "So what do you suggest I do?"  Durant asked carefully.

            "Tighten your grip," Empek said.  "She can't plot if she remains off balance and powerless.  Restrict her to your residence or your company.  She spends many hours of the day at liberty in her home, or out on her own business.  You can no longer afford to give her that freedom."

*          *            *

            When Janeway returned to her apartment that evening from Starfleet Command, she found it empty.   Her furniture was gone, her replicator removed, her heating unit damaged, her windows smashed.  Even her walls had been vandalized.  All that remained was a note from Durant telling her she could reacquire her possessions if she took up residence in his house.

            When she failed to come, Durant dispatched Empek to check on her.  Empek reported to the incredulous Durant that he'd found Janeway sleeping on the barren floor of her empty, freezing apartment.  No mattress, no blanket, yet she was utterly obstinate.  Durant waited a few days, wondering how long she'd carry on her ridiculous, stubborn charade.  After four nights passed, and no concession on Janeway's part, he sent Empek to collect her forcibly.

            Empek shuffled her into his residence twenty minutes later.  She was composed and uninjured.  Apparently when Empek stormed into her apartment, she had raised a hand to halt his advance.

            "You don't need to pounce on me.  I'm coming."  And she had accompanied him with sullen dignity.

            Durant was surprised by her unexpected compliance, and it only reinforced just how much he didn't understand about her.  He attempted to bribe her again, this time securing her a nomination for a Medal of Honor.  After she won, she looked at the priceless accolade with scorn, knowing how meaningless it truly was.  She dumped it unceremoniously on Durant's desk, rejecting his offer.

            He followed another of Empek's recommendations and began to isolate her.  He first damaged her traditional friendship with Owen Paris by arranging a number of social occasions for her with Paris's rival, Admiral Hayden.   She was pressured into refusing invitations from her old mentor, shunning conversations.  Thanks to Empek, Durant never had to tell her outright to avoid Paris; he simply allowed Empek to punish her on days she was seen interacting with the old Admiral.

            The first time Empek beat her, it was without explanation, and it seemed to genuinely catch her off guard.  As many years as she'd been in Starfleet, she had truly never found herself beaten brutally to the point of unconsciousness, and for seemingly no reason.  As she was being treated, she related the incident to Durant, hoping for some measure of protection from his lackey.  She didn't seem to realize until the next beating that Durant was fully cognizant of the situation.  She quickly figured out that the beatings corresponded with her interaction with Admiral Paris, and though she seemed tempted to speak with Paris out of pure spite, her instinct for self-preservation was stronger.  She began to avoid Paris as best she could, and when her old mentor happened to catch her by surprise, the fear and dread of what would await her that night choked her words and stifled her old affection.  Better yet, Janeway even began to resent the oblivious Paris for continually seeking her out and bringing the terrible price upon her.  She believed Empek had eyes everywhere, and she was correct.  Empek related her eroding composure to Durant, who heard it with a certain relish.  She was finally falling into line.

            It was easy after that to decide whom she would befriend and whom she would avoid.  Empek combed through her personal logs for information about her crew, to weed out the acceptable from the unacceptable.  He reported to Durant that there were many gaping holes and clearly doctored entries, undoubtedly Janeway's attempt to retain some measure of privacy.  Durant admired her for her cunning while simultaneously ordering her beaten for her presumption.  She feigned innocence well enough, and he let her off the hook after one punishment.  She seemed to have no inclination for her former crew's company anyway, whether out of indifference or fear that she'd invite harm to them.

            Durant, meanwhile, grew in stature.  His became a household name, tied as it was to Kathryn Janeway's.  His political aspirations, long ignored, were suddenly relevant and actively supported.  He was a hero by association.  He rode on the wave of good publicity, and his charisma carried him the rest of the way.  Soon, as many eyes were on him as were on his wife.  Whispers began to emerge about his potential candidacy for President of the Federation, and the response was overwhelmingly positive.

            The partnership had gone so well that decided that he was going to marry Janeway.  She steadfastly refused, threatened that he was crossing the line, and she wouldn't tolerate it.  Even after Empek tormented her off and on for a week, she wouldn't concede the issue.  Durant didn't need Empek's powers of perception to recognize the fear behind her threats, and he played on her main weakness-- her affection for her former crew.  As soon as their lives were threatened, her protests ceased.

            She softened in the weeks before Voyager's one year reunion; she even grew fairly amiable.  Durant assumed that she was attempting to make the best of her situation, and when she offered him a glass of champagne on the afternoon of the reunion, he accepted it without a second thought.

            "To new beginnings," she said, raising her glass.

            "New beginnings," Durant smiled and clinked his glass with hers, pondering the implications of her toast.  Their brief moments of civility were always welcome, and as he drank from his glass, he didn't notice her eyeing him carefully.

            When he started feeling nauseous an hour later, he didn't immediately connect it with the impromptu toast.  As the nausea grew infinitely worse, Janeway dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with a wash cloth.

            "Oh no," she said, disappointment coloring her voice.  "I guess we're going to have to skip the reunion."

            Durant was astute enough to see the scandal it would provoke if Voyager's captain skipped the one year reunion of Voyager's return, and he told her, "You should go.  Just summon Doctor Tondra.  She'll take care of this stomach flu, or whatever it is, and maybe I can catch up to you there."

            "Don't push yourself too hard," she said with a sweet smile.

            She left his side reluctantly, and by the time Doctor Tondra arrived, she was gone.  The lean, graceful doctor scanned him, and her expression darkened.

            "Here," she said softly, and she gave him an injection which instantly cleared up his nausea.

            "Jesus, it's gone," he murmured, amazed.  "What was that?"

            Her dark eyes flickered to his, a flash of concern in them.  "It neutralized the poison in your bloodstream."

            He was stunned.  "Poison?"

            "Nothing lethal," Tondra said, snapping closed the tricorder.  "A concentrated dose of ipecac, and a cocktail of other nausea-inducing agents. I don't suppose you know how you ingested it?"

            Champagne.  Janeway.  He thought of it with mounting rage.  "That goddamn bitch," he breathed.  She'd manipulated him.  She'd lulled him into trusting her, and then poisoned him long enough to make her escape.  What was she plotting?  He couldn't figure out what she hoped to gain.  

            He summoned Empek and then charged to the transporter mat like a man possessed.  By the time he reached the grounds, Janeway had already left the reception.  The crewmembers weren't certain where she'd gone, or if she'd left with anyone. Durant and Empek spent the night hunched over Starfleet Command sensors, combing the planet for her.  Empek used every resource, every connection available, but she seemed to have vanished.  She hadn't left the planet, and she hadn't checked herself into any hotels.  No prominent night establishments had received her business.

            The next day Durant walked into headquarters to see her already at work, looking composed and busy.  He approached her menacingly, and she looked up with an expressionless face to meet his rage.

            "You're going to have a lot to answer for tonight," he growled softly, aware of the people nearby.  Her expression flickered, but she betrayed no emotion.  "What the hell were you thinking?"

            "I was accepting fate," she replied vaguely.  Then, tartly, she added, "That is what you wanted, wasn't it?"

            No matter how much he pressed, cajoled, or tormented her, she never revealed what happened the night of that reunion.

            Sometimes, like this very moment, as he watched her gaze out the shuttle window during the approach to Deep Space Seven, she'd get an expression on her face that he could not decipher. He believed he'd seen the full range of her emotions, from the shades of affection and gratitude of their early friendship, to the hatred and betrayal of the present. Yet he never could read her face in those rare moments when she seemed to ponder something outside his knowledge. A part of him suspected it had to do with that lost night. Sometimes he wished he had it in him to beat the answer out of her with his own hands. He often came close.

  
            But in the end, he resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably never know.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five 

            When Chakotay had first returned from the Delta Quadrant, he brought Seven of Nine to meet his sister.  His sister had laughingly accused him of cradle-robbing, but she'd warmed up to Seven quickly enough.  His sister was always a perceptive woman, and she could see a good heart under those Borg implants.  She'd spent a good deal of time with Seven, helping acclimate her to Alpha Quadrant life.  They did things together, the three of them, and his sister would always watch them intently.

            One day, she revealed what she was thinking. "You two move like a pair of animals-- always looking for a predator."

            Seven had been perturbed by the statement, Chakotay puzzled.  His sister went on to explain that they took everything in as though their very lives depended upon it, lingering at the edge of alarm, waiting to spring at a moment's notice.  Chakotay laughed and told his sister he'd take her word for it.

            As Chakotay grew more relaxed and accustomed to the safety of home, he started to realize how stressful life onboard Voyager had been.  Every day, every moment they passed on their journey, there was an underlying awareness of their solitude and peril.  Experience had dampened their worries on a conscious level, but unconsciously they always knew, entering a battle, that if their crewmates failed them, there would be no rescue.  Every sector of space they entered was new and unexplored.  There were no beaten paths, no familiar faces.  They had no idea, forging blindly through the darkness of space, whether the next species they encountered would have a desire for their friendship or a hunger for their blood.

            Seven years was a long time to feel that strain, and it had changed them.  Perhaps they did hold themselves differently-- like animals, as his sister had said.  It was an anxiety born of circumstance and perfectly natural.  But he discovered that the change in demeanor was not permanent.  One day, when he'd been home six months, he found himself relaxing, genuinely relaxing; he realized abruptly that he hadn't darted his gaze around the room as he entered, and his body was not still taut in preparation for danger.  The survival mechanism had departed without him realizing it.

            And as he grew more relaxed, his infatuation with Seven faded away.  In the Delta Quadrant, a lonely man and an emotionally stunted woman had found their comfort in each other.  At home, circumstances changed things.  He was no longer content with simple comfort.  He was very fond of Seven, but he was not in love her, and he knew in his heart that he never would be.  He recognized that he still clutched to her out of the fear of parting with the familiar, the last vestige of his time on Voyager.  He had to sever that tie if he hoped to move on, and he broke it off as gently as he could.  

            He found himself confronted by the frightened girl Seven of Nine on some level still was, and he felt a deep regret for hurting her this way.  Her terror at the disorienting new freedom didn't alter his belief that he was doing the right thing for both of them.  He tried to help her get started, but she spurned his assistance and fled on a transport in the night.  He spent a few days in genuine fear for her before he received the welcome news that she was with the Doctor.  She'd retreated back to the comfort of her old friend, and Chakotay was immensely relieved.

            The last of his anxiety left with Seven.  He took a position as a professor, returning to Earth and his intellectual roots.  He mixed with the Native American community of New Mexico, and he reconnected with his culture and spirituality.  He made peace with himself.

            And in one night, Kathryn Janeway swept into his world and utterly shattered that peace.

            A gullible fool, he'd believed in that look of love and desire gleaming in her eyes, a look he'd wished to see since the day he met her.  He was swept up in pure, vibrant ecstasy.  They made love, and it was more astounding than anything a mortal had a right to feel.  It was beyond the mere physical, it was spiritual.  It was a prayer to the cosmos and a joining of their souls. Chakotay fell asleep holding her with the knowledge that his love for her had never faded, that it was stronger and more potent than he could have imagined.  He'd just tasted the first sweetness of the kind of soul-shattering passion he used to think existed only in books, and he dozed off in utter contentment, anticipating the days and weeks ahead with her, knowing that he'd finally found the elusive fulfillment he'd yearned for all his life.

            Hours later, he left the hotel humiliated and desolate, tasting the bitterness of her cruelty.  The woman who a few hours earlier had been the most beautiful in the universe had lifted the illusion and revealed herself to be the most hideous.  The previous night had been a lie.  A rotten lie.  She was toying with him once more, and this time she'd dealt him a lethal blow.

            The days and weeks after the reunion were dreadful, the worst.  On Voyager, he always held himself back.  Even as he offered her his affection, he'd protected  the core of his being.  He never gave himself totally to her.  But that night he offered her his very soul and she returned it to him in shreds.  He spent weeks reeling over that rejection, unable to eat, sleep, concentrate.  All he could do was think about her and taste the hurt all over again. 

            He finally requested a sabbatical from his job, and then he spent months trying to regain his spiritual center, constantly veering back and forth between the desire to hate her for her actions, and the need to find some justifiable motive for them.  In time, he came to recognize the need for justification as wishful thinking.  He buried the memory of that night, the memory of her, and he found it infinitely less painful to hate her than it had ever been to love her.

            And burying it was a much easier task, he realized now, back when he never saw her.  The universe was vast, and he hadn't believed the occasion would arise when he'd have to encounter Kathryn again.  He'd distracted himself with a renewal of his archaeological roots and a number of mindless flings with anonymous women.  

            Just when Chakotay believed he was getting over her, fate proved a cruel mistress.  That shell of a woman, the hardened, emaciated creature he'd seen in Durant's office aggravated a raw wound, and he spent that night in self-loathing, tormented with the knowledge that he still loved her.

                                                *            *            *

            On Deep Space Seven, Chakotay spent the initial press reception torn between the anticipation of encountering her and the dread of it.  The thoughts occupied most of his attention.  His date, a pretty blonde whom he'd met only this afternoon in the station cafe, was growing impatient with his distraction.  After a few failed attempts to draw his attention, she changed tactics and began to irritate him with noises about how many things she had to do tonight.

            Chakotay finally turned to her and snapped,  "If you want to leave, leave!"

            He saw ill-concealed hurt wash over her face, and he was suddenly sorry.  He was troubled tonight, but he had no right to take it out on her.  "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just--" he began.

            "Forget it.  I'm going," she said quickly, her eyes flashing.  She turned away from him and stalked off through the crowd.

            Chakotay sighed.  That was one woman he'd never coax back.

            _Why do I do this to myself?_ he wondered.  His love life was tainted by his tangled memories of Janeway.  Every woman he encountered seemed colorless next to her, and those who managed to make an impression on him only aroused his mistrust.  Seska and Riley had both injured his faith in women, and Janeway had delivered the terminal blow.   There could be no relationship if he was incapable of trust, and every fling inevitably ended with some variation of this scene.  Better sooner than later, he supposed.

            Chakotay circled the room, searching for a familiar face, absently taking a champagne glass from one of the passing servers.  He raised the glass to his lips, and had just enough time to relish the sharp flavor before he spotted Durant making his way towards him.  Not the familiar face he was hoping for.  He forced his lips into a smile of greeting.

            "Chakotay, good to see you again," Durant crowed, heartily enough to draw the attention of the reporters eager for a good photo op.  Undoubtedly his intention.

            "Likewise, Admiral Durant," Chakotay responded politely, grasping the hand Durant extended.  He heard the clicks of nearby holo-imagers, and made an effort not to glance their way.

            "Are you enjoying the reception, Mr. Chakotay?" Durant inquired.

            "Very much, thank you," Chakotay replied.  He wasn't enjoying it in the least.  Like the majority of the reception's attendees, he was here merely to put in face time.

            "I take it your journey here was pleasant."  

            "As pleasant as could be expected, Admiral.  I was fortunate enough to acquire a company ship.  No charter troubles."

            "That's very fortunate.  Space travel these days--"

            Chakotay was spared the effort of the stilted conversation when a plump, elderly Admiral approached them.  "Good to see you, John!"

            "Always a pleasure, Jeff," Durant replied jovially.  He turned to Chakotay.  "Mr. Chakotay, this is Jeff Roman.  Jeff, this is our man of the hour, Commander Chakotay."

            "Former Commander.  It's nice to meet you," Chakotay put in as he reached out to shake Admiral Roman's hand.

            He pulled back to sip his champagne as Roman asked, "You're Janeway's man, aren't you?"

            Chakotay raised his eyebrows.  That could potentially be a loaded question.  "Yes, we served together on Voyager."

            "How marvelous.  I was talking to her just now.  She'll be thrilled to see you.  John, where _is_ that pretty little wife of yours?"

            Durant was scowling as he distractedly scanned the crowd.  "She was with me a minute ago.  I'm not sure--"

            Acutely timed, Kathryn emerged from the crowd.  Her steps slowed when her eyes fell on Chakotay, and she seemed to hang back reluctantly for a split second before she took a few jerky steps forward, as if nudged. Chakotay noticed a tall, powerful man with ash-white hair and cold black eyes trailing closely behind her, and he briefly wondered if he was with her, but as Janeway drew in towards them, the man abruptly veered in another direction and disappeared into the crowd.

            "Kathryn, darling," Durant smiled easily.  "It's good of you to join us."  He reached out and looped his arm around her waist in a proprietary manner.  She smiled stiffly as he continued,  "We were just talking about you."

            "Oh?  Nothing too bad, I hope," she said in a hollow voice.

            Durant chuckled.  "We were just remarking on how inconsiderate you could be to old friends."  His tone was teasing.

            Janeway looked at him blankly, then suddenly comprehended.  She turned to Chakotay, her eyes darting up to his briefly and then away as she shook his hand.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  I-- it's good to see you again, Commander."

            "And you, Admiral," Chakotay clipped in a perfunctory voice, releasing her hand.

            Her expression was blank as she asked,  "Are you enjoying the reception?"  He knew the Captain's Mask when he saw it.

            "Naturally."  A part of him was rankled by her cold composure and the memories it brought him.  Forgetting their company, he swiped subtly with,  "I haven't seen Admiral Paris yet.  I assume you invited him to this gala?"  He knew perfectly well of the degeneration of her relationship with her old mentor.

            The remark was aimed to shake that composure, and it succeeded beyond his expectations.  Her expression wavered, and she grew very pale.  She turned to her husband seemingly for help, saying unevenly,  "I--don't--know... John?"

            Chakotay looked at Durant to see a flash of suspicion in the other man's eyes before the old warmth reasserted itself.  "He was invited, of course, but I understand he had other pressing matters."

            "Rumor has it he's been suffering from a bout of ill health," Admiral Roman put in.  "Headaches, joint problems.  He's been taking it easy."

            "Really?" Durant said with concern.  "Perhaps he should see my personal physician, if he's in pain."

            "How kind of you, honey," Janeway suddenly chimed, her smile unsettling, her sharp eyes flitting to Durant's.  "I know you would put a speedy end to all of Admiral Paris's pain if you could."

            Chakotay caught the potential double meaning of the words and wondered if it was intentional.  Roman clearly missed it.  He laughed.

            "That's old John for you, always worrying too much about the rest of us."

            Durant held Janeway's eye, smiling thinly.  "My wife knows how fond I am of the old man, contrary to popular belief."  

            She tore her gaze from her husband's.  "Yes, he's quite fond," she echoed dully.  Chakotay watched her look away with unfocused eyes and an empty smile.  

            "Ah, you two," Roman chuckled, oblivious to the interplay,  "Don't worry your heads.  Just pretend we old geezers are still vital young officers, and we'll deal with age the way we want to-- through utter denial."

            Uneasy laughter from the other three.  The conversation continued in that awkward manner for a few minutes before they dispersed.

            Chakotay had spent the days after his first encounter with Durant and Janeway reconsidering his initial notion that they loathed each other.  He'd wonder whether jealousy had colored his view of their relationship, or if he'd simply caught them on a bad day.  As he pondered them now, however, he began to realize that his first impression might not have been purely knee-jerk emotionalism.  

            And as the night progressed, he began to wonder if the truth wasn't something far more ominous.  

                                                *            *            *

            They retired near the end of the reception, Chakotay returning his quarters, Janeway and Durant returning to theirs just around the bend of the corridor.

            Janeway's head was swirling pleasantly from a little too much champagne on a near empty stomach, and Durant seemed unusually thoughtful.  She paid him little heed as she thought over the sporadic encounters with Chakotay throughout the reception.  Just having him nearby had done something for her, heartened her.  He clearly loathed her, and he did nothing to hide the fact, but she couldn't hold it against him when that had been her intention.  It hurt her on some level, but she knew it would destroy her outright if Durant discovered they were in love and murdered him for it.  She could settle with his contempt, knowing the price the other emotion might bring.  Just standing in the same room as Chakotay, catching whatever side glimpses she could manage, made for the most cheerful evening she'd had in... God knows how long.

            "He was watching you the whole evening," Durant said out of nowhere.

            She looked over at him, catching her breath.  He was half undressed, seated on the end of the bed, watching her with his clear, perceptive eyes.

            "Who was watching me?"

            "You know who.  Chakotay."

            She felt the blood rush from her cheeks, and she turned away from him to look out the view port.

            "I think he's in love with you," Durant continued.

            Janeway felt a tingle in her chest.  Was that even possible, after all she'd done?

            "He loathes me."

            She heard Durant rising to his feet, and she heard him opening and closing a drawer.

            "Love, loathing, they go hand in hand sometimes."  He was approaching behind her.

            Anxiety slowly crept over her.  "So what if he does.  I still despise him.  Does it bother you?"  After everything she'd done to protect Chakotay, if Durant found out now...

            "No," he said, and suddenly his arm encircled her waist, hugging her back against him.  "It's always good to have something another man wants."  His lips tickled the back of her neck as he pressed something against her side. 

            Janeway went stiff in his arms.  "You _don't_ have me," she growled, and almost pulled away before the hypo stung into her hip.

            She jerked away in sudden alarm, whirling on him angrily.  "What was that?  What the hell was that?"

            He looked at her coolly, unfazed by her outburst.  "A fertility enhancer.  It should last about a month.  Since you missed our appointment, the good doctor was willing to supply an alternative--"

            "You had no right--" she began furiously.

            "I had every right!" he roared, taking a menacing step closer to her.  "I gave you the chance to conceive the easy way, and you backed out on me.  Now we try it my way."

            She glared at him.  "If you think I'm just going to lie back and let you fuck me, you have another thing coming, mister."  She glared him down, willing to bet that the threat of a fight would dampen any impulses he might have.

            Her instincts proved correct.  His eyes raked over her expression, gauging her resolve.  It must not have seemed worth the potential damage, because he backed down.

            "We'll see about that," he threatened quietly.  He took a few steps away, then whirled back on her.  "What the hell's wrong with you today?  You're behaving deplorably.  From that inappropriate Paris comment to this resistance now."  His voice dropped, and his eyes glittered.  "You should be very, very careful about pursuing this course, Kathryn.  Some of your crew might pay the price for your little change in attitude."

            With that parting remark, he turned and retreated to the bed.  Shaken, Kathryn settled herself on the couch.


	7. Chapter Six

                                                Chapter Six

            The next evening, the formal ceremony went by quickly enough.  The gist of the message was something along the lines of 'taking Free Trade back from the monopolies', redefining it as freedom for the little man against the forces of universalization.  The speakers were well chosen and articulate, but they paled in comparison to the keynote speaker.  John Durant took everyone's breath away with his passionate speech.  Even Chakotay had to admit the man could captivate an audience.  His presence, combined with the pomp and celebration of freedom and justice, proved magnetic.  The press was glued to the spectacle, and everyone involved came off shining like gold.

            Chakotay received far less attention from Durant the night after the ceremony than he had the night before.  Clearly, after the ceremony concluded, his purpose had been served.  As soon as the holopics had been taken, Durant had little use for him, and he no longer made an active effort to charm Janeway's former first officer.  He watched Durant work the room, laughing and cavorting with high ranking officials and wealthy political enthusiasts.  Janeway was never far behind him, smiling dutifully at times, but for the most part looking bored out of her mind and increasingly exhausted.  The only spark of life he saw in her were in those occasional moments they caught eyes, right before one of them looked away.

            He couldn't drink the synthehol because he needed a clear head to navigate his ship in a few hours, so the reception crawled by agonizingly slowly.  When he'd put in enough face time to undoubtedly satisfy the PR Executive at Brenner and Associates, he retreated to his quarters to wait out the time before departure.

                                                *            *            *

            Janeway's eyelids drooped.  She swayed on her feet with a sudden wave of exhaustion, and the glass of champagne she'd been nursing would have tumbled out of her suddenly slack grip if Durant hadn't reached out and grabbed it.  God, she was tired.  She looked at him imploringly.

            "John, I'm tired.  Please let me go back--"

            "Of course, Kathryn," he said warmly, surprising her with his concession.  "We've covered all the bases here.  I'm ready to go if you are."

            Too exhausted for scruples, she clutched his arm half for support and half in gratitude as they left the reception.  By the time they reached their quarters, her legs would barely hold her.  She collapsed onto a plush chair, and her head slumped back against the headrest.

            "Thank you.  I'm just worn out..." she breathed, her eyes sinking closed.

            "Of course you are, honey.  Just relax and try to sleep."

            "I know you need the face time--"

            "Don't worry about it.  There will be other receptions.  Just take care of yourself."

            There was something about his tone that roused unease in her increasingly foggy mind.  With an effort, she opened her eyes to catch him watching her.  He looked away and began to strip off his formal dress uniform.

            But...

            It wasn't worth thinking about.  She just needed to lie down.  If she didn't get up and walk over to the couch now, she wouldn't be able to later.  No matter; she could lie in this chair.  She could lie here for a week.  Her eyelids began to sink closed again, and she almost didn't latch onto the problem, but the thought surfaced even as her brain grew fuzzy:  Durant was never this considerate, and she was never this physically drained.  Never.  There was something wrong here.

            She forced her eyes wide open as a terrible suspicion came over her.  She always watched what she ate and drank around him; she rarely took something directly from his hands.  But at the receptions she disregarded that rule.  She'd always assumed that he wouldn't have the audacity to drug her in the presence of others, but if he'd given her something that acted gradually enough, he could fool them, fool her...

            And with that fertility drug he gave her yesterday, she knew why.

            She didn't think she'd have the strength to stand up, and for a moment, her exhaustion almost compelled her to resign to the seductive lure of inaction.

            Her mind flashed briefly to Chakotay, making love to her that night in Italy.  Mark, Jaffen.  Sex was a lovely thing, and Durant was a physically appealing man.  She could force herself to accept it.  He probably had a good deal of experience.  Durant, tall, polished, fit...  Durant... 

            The chill of reality roused her.  Durant, the man who'd killed her family and crewmen, who'd stolen her life from her, ordered her beaten, humiliated, destroyed her friendships, ruined her happiness... Durant playing with her breasts... Durant thrusting his penis into her body...  Durant's semen spilling into her vagina...

            No.  No that.  That was too much.  Not him.  Not ever.

            With a Herculean effort, she forced herself to inch forward and totter to her feet.  Once there, her legs felt heavy as though she'd run ten miles, and her breath was coming in short gasps.  She swayed, and for a moment she feared she'd fall.

            Durant stood watching her from across the room.  He began to approach her.  "Kathryn..?"

            Nearly stumbling, she flailed her hand out for the nearest weapon she could find-- a half-empty bottle of Saurian Brandy from Admiral Roman.  She brought it down against the edge of the shelf and it shattered.  She raised the splintered glass in front of her threateningly.

            "What are you doing?"  Durant asked incredulously, keeping his distance.

            "What do you think I'm doing?" she yelled.  "You drugged me!  You goddamn coward-- you couldn't take me in an honest fight?  It's not going to work... I'm not going to let you!"

            Durant watched her for a second, thinking the situation over, then dipped his head in acknowledgment.  "You're right.  I drugged you.  Go ahead and stand there.  You can fight the sedative as long as you like, but it will do its work eventually." He paused a moment, watching her struggle to stay on her feet.  He continued evenly, "Sooner or later, Kathryn, and from the look of you I'd say sooner rather than later, you're going to collapse.  You might as well make it easy on yourself; put away the bottle and sit down.  You don't want to fall on that broken glass, now, do you?"

            Exhaustion rolled over her in waves, and even as Durant said his words, her legs began to tremble beneath her weight.

            "I have lubrication.  If I can't get you ready, I'll use it," he said as if at a distance.  "I don't want to hurt you.  I promise it won't hurt you.  You'll probably like it.  It will seem like nothing more than a pleasant dream..."

            It would be easier... It might only take tonight.  All she had to do was sit down and close her eyes, let the cloud drift over her, and when her mind cleared,  the pregnancy business would be over and she wouldn't have to worry again...  Just a dream...

            She felt her legs slowly buckling beneath her, and her body sank down onto the edge of the chair.  Her elbows braced against her lap as she fought her own weakness.  What else could she do?  Where could she go, who could help her?  It was inevitable.  She couldn't stop it...

            Somewhere in her vision, she could see Durant approaching warily.  Her arms were trembling with the effort of keeping herself upright, and she fought against her creeping fatigue.  She swayed towards sleep, paused just short of it, then back again in time to see Durant closing in on her.

            Her thoughts were fractured and increasingly muddled.  He was watching her with an intent expression as he approached her.  He reached down and pulled her up, holding her limp body against his with one arm, his free hand fumbling to release the bottle from her flaccid grip.  He worked it from her fingers, and set it gently on the shelf behind her.  He reaffirmed his grip around her waist, and ran one of his fingers lightly across her lips.

            Her head fell backwards without her volition, and he dipped down to kiss her neck.  "Don't be afraid," he whispered against her skin.  His hand tickled down her body, caressing her breast, finding her nipple through her uniform, pinching at it until it hardened.  The hand journeyed down to rest between her legs, his fingers rubbing her sex through her pants.  "Kathryn Janeway, you infuriatingly proud woman... I'm going to make you itch for it."

            The crass assertion cut through her haze.  She could feel him growing hard against her side, and through her confusion emerged the realization, with cold clarity, that this wasn't a one-time deal.  He could have given her something stronger to render her completely unconscious, but he wanted her awake enough to feel; he wanted her to like this because he hoped for her cooperation in future encounters.  Even if she got pregnant immediately, he'd do it again.  He would never risk his political career by taking a mistress; she would be the only outlet he had.

            The sluggishness descended again, but she snapped back just in time before totally losing her strength.  She slithered her arm back and fumbled for the bottle.  Her hand brushed against the cool glass, and she wrapped her fingers around it.  Durant began to ease them towards the bedroom, and it was then that she lashed out, jabbing the broken bottle blindly into whatever target it could encounter.  It made contact with something solid, and she heard a cry of pain.  She drove it mercilessly forward again, and saw blood spurt through her fingertips.  The bottle slipped out of her limp fingers, and Durant dropped her and flinched away.  She collapsed to her hands and knees, unable to muster the strength to rise.  Even now her arms shook, and she didn't even think she could manage to remain kneeling.

            It was then her eyes fell upon the trail of blood on the carpet.  Durant's blood.  

            She'd stabbed Durant.  She'd drawn Durant's blood.

            Sudden fear and panic jolted through her at what were sure to be the consequences for this action, propelling her upright, and sending her blindly through the door and out into the corridor. The world was whirling and fuzzy in front of her, and her every muscle was straining under her weight.  She tried to run through the haze, repeatedly stumbling over her own feet.  She wasn't sure where she was heading, or if he was following.  The world was collapsing around her as she slumped by Chakotay's door, hitting at and nearly missing the chime.  Her legs crumpled beneath her, and she sank down to the floor.

            Any second Durant would come, or worse, Empek.

            _Please, Chakotay, be there_...

            Her eyes sank closed as her world blurred and darkened around her.

                                                *            *            *

            Chakotay heard the chime, and wondered who could be at his door.  He thought he'd handled all the obligatory press interviews already.  He was scheduled to depart in an hour; he didn't have time for another one...

            He opened the door, expecting a reporter, finding Kathryn Janeway, still in dress uniform, sagging against the wall by his feet.  She looked like she'd passed out, and he stood there a split second staring at her, too stunned to move.  Finally, he leaned forward, scooped her up, and hauled her out of the corridor into his quarters.

            "Gods, Kathryn, are you drunk?"

            Even before he finished asking the question, he saw the blood smeared on her hand and her tunic.  He felt a thrill of alarm, and he laid her gently out on the floor, looking for the wound.

            "Were you attacked?" he demanded.  He thought he heard a faint moan.  He leaned in close to her ear and asked loudly,  "Kathryn, are you injured?"  Her eyelids trembled.  He shook her lightly and her eyes finally crept laboriously open.  "Kathryn?"

            She looked at him without recognition for a few moments, then, her eyes sinking closed again, she said in a slow, slurred murmur, "Please hide me."

            His brow furrowed.  "Hide you?  From who?  Who did this to you?"

            Her eyes were closed, and he tried shaking her again. She showed no sign of rousing this time.  He pressed his fingers to her pulse, and was relieved to find it strong.  He put his hand under her nose and found her breathing steadily.  He conducted a thorough visual check, and saw no wound; the blood wasn't hers.

            Chakotay paused in his ministrations to catch a breath.  The shock of the situation was wearing off, and he began to feel alarmed and confused.  Hide her.  Hide her from what, from whom?  Could it be Durant?  Some impulse had clearly sent her to Chakotay and not her husband.

            Hide her.

            Despite his powerful resentment towards her, the thought of refusing her help never crossed his mind.  He removed the comm badge from her tunic and tossed it into the waste incinerator.  No tracking her that way.  He lifted her up onto his bed and ran a tricorder over her.  It told him she was still partially conscious, and when he pinched her, he could see her eyebrows furrow in discomfort.  She was conscious-- incoherent and utterly paralyzed-- but conscious.

            As he expected, there was a muscle relaxant of sorts in her system.  When he uploaded the molecular structure of the sedative into the computer, the computer identified it as Nerium, a drug banned in Federation space.  It  kicked in too slowly for hospital use, and addicted too easily for public distribution.   There was a small market for the drug among a few junkies still hooked from it's brief period of legality.

            He closed the tricorder.  "Well, Kathryn, I always told you to cut out the caffeine, but this isn't much of an improvement."   There was no response from her prone form.

            Chakotay was at a loss.

            She wanted him to hide her.  He didn't know who was after her.  He was supposed to depart soon; it would arouse suspicion from her pursuers if he delayed.  Had there been a crime?  Had she hurt someone?  Why would someone drug her?  What the hell was he supposed to do now?

            The questions swirled around in his head for a few minutes as he set about packing his clothes, uncertain what else to do.  It wasn't until ten minutes later that a door chime cut into his thoughts.

            Throwing a glance over at Janeway to make sure she was safely concealed, he called,  "Come in!"

            The door slid open to reveal the massive man with the bleach-white hair whom he'd spotted only briefly at yesterday's reception.  The man's cold black eyes rested on Chakotay, and Chakotay instinctively drew forward to prevent any intrusion by this man into his domain.

            "Forgive me for the interruption, Commander," he said in a flat voice, "But have you seen Admiral Janeway around?"

            Chakotay blinked once, twice, then said, "No.  Why?  Who are you?"

            The man hesitated, then suddenly Durant emerged from behind the tall man, looking slightly frazzled, clutching his side as though he'd been injured and was trying to hide it.  "This is Empek.  He's with me, Chakotay," Durant explained with a weak smile.  "A friend."

            "Is Admiral Janeway missing?" Chakotay asked with mock alarm.

            Empek was scrutinizing him carefully as Durant chuckled.  "It's nothing, really.  You see, Kathryn had a little too much to drink tonight, and you know how poor a head she has for alcohol.  She left the reception early, and we're afraid she might have gotten lost on her way back."

            He was a good liar.  A very good liar.  Between his smooth deception and the menace of his large friend, Chakotay could see a formidable force.  But Chakotay was a good liar, too.

            "I'm sure she's all right, then.  I'm scheduled to depart in half an hour, but I could delay if you truly need my help," Chakotay said innocently, folding his arms over his broad chest.

            The large man sent Durant a look, and Durant suddenly smiled dismissively.  "No, I'm sure it's fine.  Don't let this disrupt your plans.  Thanks for your time, Commander."

            Chakotay nodded, and the men traveled off down the corridor.

            After the door slid shut, Chakotay wondered why, if they thought Kathryn had disappeared, they were conducting the search themselves and not summoning station security teams.

            He wandered back into the bedroom and looked down at her.  He ran his gaze over the dark circles under her eyes, the skin stretched taut over sharp cheekbones.  So thin.  He remembered that her weight always dropped sharply in stressful times.  He thought back to her clear unease in Durant's office, and at the reception.  Her double-pronged remark about Admiral Paris shot into mind..

            He thought back further, to the first reunion.  "Just one night, let's forget everything that's happened, and everything that's to come..."  She'd whispered that to him.  He was too far gone to dwell on her words then.  They took on an unsettling new meaning now. 

            That reunion... the strange intensity in her eyes, her vehement appeal to leave  with her immediately...  The next day, her tears even as she declared her indifference to him and her love for another.

            Her abandonment of her friends, the people for whom two years earlier she would gladly have marched into an inferno.

            And when he thought about it, even the way she moved... tense, sharp.  His sister had said it about him a long time ago, and he truly saw it now.  An animal, always alert, always on guard for some new danger.  She'd been safe at home for over two years, but something had kept her in that state of fear.

            Chakotay decided then that she was leaving with him.  He would beam her onto his ship and slip away.

            If he was wrong, it would give her time to wake up and explain the situation to him without any possible outside coercion.  If she had a decent explanation for him, he would allow that he'd overreacted and return her to the station.  It was a mistake easily remedied, and he could always stave off her wrath by pointing out her delirious plea for his help.  He'd return the company ship a day or two late, and avoid spending every night for the rest of his life wondering if he'd abandoned the one woman he'd truly loved to a pack of wolves. 

            But if he was right, if there was something happening...

            If he was right then there was no time for delay.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

            Time passed in a confused jumble of fractured thoughts and blurred images that slipped from her mind as soon as they came.  Every now and then, sounds and physical sensations penetrated the haze: the tingle of a transporter; the vague familiarity of a soft, male voice, beyond her understanding but strangely reassuring in the midst of the chaos; something coarse and wet scrubbed around her fingers, her wrist; the soft humming and vibrating around her.

            It seemed like years before her thoughts began to clarify, and she slowly intellectualized her way out of this waking dream.  The images faded as the power of her conscious mind reasserted itself and told her to ignore them, and she was finally able to decipher the information from her senses.  The vibration; she was in space.  Beeps and chirps; someone was manning a console.  She tried to open her eyes, but the lids wouldn't budge.  She wanted call out to the person, but her tongue wouldn't form the words.  She realized with a start that she could feel her body but she couldn't move it.  She tried to force something-- anything to happen.  She struggled against the leaden weight of her own body, but to no avail.

            Kathryn fought down her rising panic.  She tried to remember how this had happened, figure out where she was.  She remembered the reception when Durant... Durant!  He did this to her!  The memories grew blurry.  She couldn't...  Oh God.  Did he rape her?  She focused her attention.  No.  She didn't feel like he had.  She'd know, wouldn't she? 

            The shattered glass.  The blood.  Hers, his?  The corridor, dark and constricted around her.  A door.  Chakotay's door?  He was just down the corridor; she was sure she'd run farther than that.  Then...?  It was a blur.  She had a vague impression of jumbled sounds, words she had not understood.

            Now she was lying on her back... on a bed?  No.  It was too hard.  She could feel warm leather under her hands, and she sensed that her body was not entirely flat.  A reclining seat with... leather upholstery?  Was she on the station or in Durant's ship?  Did Durant's ship have leather upholstery?

            She heard footsteps nearby, on the carpet next to her.  A slight humming.  A tricorder.

            "Good," the voice.  It was Chakotay's voice.  She'd know that gentle voice anywhere.  She was so relieved she could have wept.

            She felt his breath on her ear as he said,  "I know you can hear me, Kathryn...  Listen.  The sedative's dissipated in your blood stream, so I think it will be safe for me to give you a stimulant now.  Just relax and let it kick in."  And then he injected a hypo against her neck.

*          *            *

            After two minutes, Chakotay questioned whether the stimulant had worked, and he was debating the safety of upping the dosage when he heard a small noise in her throat.  He leaned closer, watching her intently, and he saw her eyelids flicker.  They trembled for a few seconds, and then finally slipped open, revealing icy blue eyes that immediately flitted around the shuttle.  Slowly, her body began to stir, and her mouth bobbed open and closed a few times before she managed to slur, "Ch'tay..."

            "Just a little longer, Kathryn."

            After a few seconds, her voice was slightly clearer when she asked,  "How long?"

            "You were out for about three hours," he replied softly.

            A few seconds more passed, and she tried to pull her head up.  Chakotay saved her some effort and adjusted her chair into a sitting position  Her expression pinched as though she were in pain, and he watched her take a few deep breaths before forging,  "What happened?"

            He studied her unrevealing expression.  "You found me, asked for me to hide you--"

            "I don't remember that," she said with a frown.

            Chakotay raised his eyebrows.  "Well, I can tell you that I do.  And right now, my memory might be slightly more reliable than yours."

            Janeway inclined her head wearily at that.  She closed her eyes again, her brow furrowed, and then raised a trembling hand up to rub her temple.  He knew she was struggling to put the pieces together, and he continued,  "You asked me to hide you, so I concealed you.  A few minutes later, your husband and a big blonde fellow dropped by looking for you."

            Her eyes snapped open and he watched as something unreadable flickered across her face.   "I didn't know if you were hiding from them or from someone else, so I played it safe and told them I had no clue where you were.  I was scheduled to depart in thirty minutes.  I didn't have anywhere to conceal you on the station, so I took you with me."

            A second passed, and her expression was frozen.  Then, as though the pieces suddenly flew together, alarm and horror washed over her features.  "We're off the station?" Her eyes found his frantically.  "Chakotay-- take me back.  You have to take me back now!"

            "What's the hurry?" Chakotay asked.  He scrutinized her closely, saw immediately when the Captain's Mask snapped into place.

            "My husband doesn't know where I am.  He'll be frantic," Janeway said in a controlled voice.  A lie.  "Chakotay, please.  Just turn the ship around."

            Chakotay inclined his head, his face deceptively neutral.  "Of course I'll turn the ship around."  Before she could look too relieved, he added,  "As soon as you explain some things to me."

            Her expression was suddenly guarded, and she had an unreadable look in her eyes.  "What... things?"  She sat up straight, attentive and suspicious.

            He shrugged his large shoulders.  "Oh, I don't know.  Perhaps how, exactly, you ended up with massive amounts of an illegal sedative in your bloodstream."  She looked away, and he continued,  "Maybe you could explain whose blood was on your hands and uniform,"  She looked down at her dress uniform, stained with the telltale smear of blood.  Her expression clouded over, and he continued mercilessly,  "You could explain why you wanted me to hide you--"

            "I was delirious," she cut in quickly, her eyes sharp.  "It meant nothing."

            "Fine," Chakotay said smoothly.  "Even allowing for that, explain why your husband and his friend, so frantic to find you, were out looking for you themselves when the natural step would be to summon station security.  Explain why they _outright lied_ when they told me you were drunk. Tell me why you stabbed your own husband--"

            "I didn't stab--" she began quickly.

            "I saw him clutching his side, Kathryn," he cut in, his voice glacial, finally having caught her in a direct lie.  "It was probably nothing more than a flesh wound, but you did it.  You had blood on your hands and he was injured.  Should I ask the computer for a DNA analysis of that stain on your tunic?"  Unbeknownst to her, he already had analyzed the blood.  It was Durant's.

            She glared at him angrily, but didn't accept his offer.  She pushed herself up to stand on now-steady legs, and he rose as well.  She set her hands on her hips, and said coldly, "Any other charges you'd like to level, Commander?"

            Chakotay felt a sudden surge of anger at her obstinacy.  "Yes, there are!  Why did you skip the reunion?  Why haven't you talked to any of your friends in over a year?  What the hell was that about, sleeping with me and then announcing your marriage to someone else?  Why have you lost so much--"

            She suddenly gave a short, harsh laugh, her eyes narrowed into tiny slits.  "That's what this is about, isn't it?" she hissed with sudden malice.  "You're still angry that I rejected you, and you're taking it out on me now!"

            His expression darkened.  She'd hit a vein, and he felt rage and hurt long suppressed threaten to overcome his reason; he fought it down.  He knew her.  She only resorted to vindictiveness when she couldn't have her way.  She aimed to draw blood.  He knew a tactic when he saw one.  As much as it rankled him, he refused to take the bait. 

            "You can't goad me into returning you by making me angry, Kathryn."

            Janeway stared at him incredulously, a debate clearly raging inside her.  Then, suddenly subdued, "Chakotay, please," she implored,  "Why can't you just trust me?  I have to return.  Please take me back."

            "Kathryn, I will," he said just as softly, holding her eyes with his own.  "I will take you back, I swear that-- just as soon as you answer my questions."

            She closed her eyes, reigning in some impulse.  In a torn voice, "Can't you just accept that there are some things I can't tell you?"

            "No."

            Her eyes opened again, flashing.  The anger was rising again.  "Then maybe you can accept that it's none of your goddamn business!"

            "You made it my business the moment you showed up at my door!" he retorted sharply.

            "I didn't mean--"  her voice broke off abruptly, and her expression and voice hardened.  "Take me back now, Commander.  That's an order."

            He laughed.  "Kathryn, you can't order me.  I resigned, remember?"

            She glared at him.  "This is ridiculous.  I'm not answerable to you.  You can't keep me here against my will."

            "Really?" He said with calm logic,  "No one knows you're here.  Who's going to stop me?"  That galvanized her into a sudden rage.

            She ripped forward towards him and yelled, "Damn you, Chakotay!  Take me back now or I swear I'll report you for kidnapping!"

            He smiled sourly in return.  "Report me for kidnapping and I'll report you for illegal drug use.  Nerium, Kathryn?  What would that do to your dear hubby's political career?"

            She caught her breath.  She clearly hadn't considered that possibility.

            He took the opportunity to catch her eye.  "Kathryn, thus far, you have begged, threatened and cajoled."  She looked down, and he reached out to pull her chin up.  "Why don't you just tell me the truth?"

            She pulled away from him, her hands clenched into fists so tight her knuckles were white.   Her voice was choked when she said,  "Please, Chakotay.  You have to take me back.  Trust my judgment on this one."

            "Trust your judgment?" he sputtered.  He launched forward, grasped her by her thin shoulders, and hauled her over to a shiny console.  He held the surprised woman in place, staring at the shadowy image of herself.  "Look at yourself, for God's sake.  You're emaciated!  Did your _judgment_ tell you to stop eating?  And your husband-- did your judgment tell you to marry a man who clearly terrifies you?  Your judgment hasn't done you any favors!"

            She said a chilly voice,  "The only time my judgment was wrong was when it told me to come to you."  She jerked out of his grip.

            "Well, you did come to me.  And it's too late to take that back."

            He watched her stalk around the shuttle like a caged lioness.

            "Chakotay, at least let me send a transmission to my husband, let him know I'm all right," she finally tried.

            "Once you tell me what's going on, you can make any transmission you like," he intoned flatly.

            Janeway turned to him, and asked tiredly,  "Why do you care, Chakotay?  It's not your concern."

            "I told you, it's been my concern ever since you sought my help," he replied stubbornly.  "You may have been delirious, but something sent you to me, whether you can admit it to yourself or not.  And I wouldn't be a good friend if I didn't find out why."

            "My, what a selective memory you have, Commander.  We're not friends."

            "Fine.  I wouldn't be a good _person_ if I didn't find out why."

            She sank into her seat, her eyes shut tightly as if pained.  He felt a flicker of concern, but when she looked up, he realized the pain was nothing physical he could heal.

            "Chakotay..."

            He braced himself for another argument.

            "Do you have any coffee?  I really need coffee."

            He relaxed.  "I'll go replicate some."

            Chakotay walked away from the navigational pit up to the replicator.  He replicated coffee, and after a bit of thought, some scrambled eggs. 

            He returned to find her gazing thoughtfully out the window.

            "Coffee and some breakfast."  He set them down next to the navigation console.

            She smiled a half-hearted  thanks, and quickly started on the coffee.  He sat down in the chair next to her, watching as she gulped down the coffee but disregarded the eggs.

            "You should eat something... regain your strength," he said after a while.

            "I don't like eggs," she replied dismissively.

            On Voyager, he'd seen her replicate them quite frequently.  He didn't mention it.  "I'll replicate something else."

            "No, that's fine," she said a little defensively.  "I truly am not hungry."

            "Your stomach's growling," he pointed out.  And it was.  He'd noticed it rumbling while she was indisposed and it hadn't ceased.

            She looked into the coffee, embarrassed.  "I'm fine, really."

            "You're not on a diet, are you?"  She clearly did not like the scorn in his voice.

            "If you must know, yes I am," she snapped angrily.

            "That's ridiculous.  You're thin.  Skinny.  Eat something."  He shoved the plate towards her.

            "Damn it, leave it be!" she snapped, and knocked the plate out of his hand and to the floor of the shuttle.

            Her action seemed to surprise both of them, and they sat there, staring at the clumps of yellow egg now smeared across the carpet.  When Chakotay drew his eyes back up to her, he could see tears streaking down her face.  "You're crying," he told her.

            "I have something in my eye," she replied defensively.  She raised her coffee for a sip.

            "Both of them?"

            He could see Janeway attempting to school her features into neutrality.  Her eyes were blank, her lips set in a flat line.  The Captain's Mask.  How he'd grown to hate that expression.  Now, though, the tears trickling faster and faster down her cheeks ruined the effect.

            "I'm just stressed.  It's been a miserable week," she finally admitted softly.  She batted her hand angrily at the tears.

            "A miserable week?" he prodded, hoping to get more from her.

            "A miserable year," she amended darkly.  Her eyes flickered down to the controls.  Quietly,  "Chakotay, you have to turn this ship around.  Lives depend upon it."

            "Whose lives?"

            "I can't tell you that," she said faintly, slumping back in her chair, physically and emotionally drained.

            "Don't you trust me, Kathryn?" he asked her.  She lolled her head over to meet his eyes.

            "It's not an issue of trust."

            "I trust you," he pointed out.

            She gazed at him thoughtfully.  "And I don't know why.  I've been a monster to you."

            He didn't debate that.  "Kathryn, we've had problems.  I realize that.  But there are also things that I've noticed, that the crew has noticed, things that lead me to question my entire perception of the last two years; since we returned, really."

            She looked at him warily.

            "You don't love Durant."

            Her eyes suddenly hardened into two little points, her cheeks flushed, and he realized now that he was on the right track.

            "I do."

            "No, you don't," Chakotay replied firmly.  "I'd even go so far as to say you hate him."

            She was breathing heavily now, an expression he could not decipher on her face.

            "You hate him, and you fear him.  You lash out, but never too far and never too hard because you're afraid of something.  A price you'll pay?"

            "You have it all wrong."

            "Do I?  Let's talk about his friend then.  Tall, bleached hair.  Big guy.  He'd give a Hirogen a run for his money.  Empet?"

            "Empek.  He's a charming and affable man," her voice was strained as she said this.

            "He's in on this, too, whatever it is."

            "I'll tell you what this is: a fabrication of your twisted imagination.  Can you take me back now?"

            He continued on, heedless,  "They drugged you.  I don't know why, but it was one or both of them.  You were disoriented and you followed your instinct, which was to fight back.  You stabbed Durant.  You escaped and found me.  That was a good thing."

            "_A good thing?_  Do you have any idea what you're talking about?" Janeway suddenly flared up, whirling on him with glittering, blue eyes.  "I destroyed everything!  You can't even imagine what he'll do to me!"

            Chakotay stared at her, hearing with surprise what she'd blurted in the heat of emotion

            She realized it, too, because she sat down, her eyes blazing, features hardened. 

            "Kathryn--"

            "I'm not talking to you anymore," she snarled.  "You either take me back, or..."

            "Or what?"

            She looked away sullenly, refusing to speak.

            Chakotay shrugged, and went about cleaning the eggs from the floor.  He could feel her resentful gaze on him the whole time.

*          *            *

            At first, Janeway simply sat there stewing in her own rage.  As more and more time passed, she began to grow increasingly agitated.  Hours upon hours.  She started pacing back and forth, her hands clenching in and out of tight fists.  Durant and Empek loomed larger and more terrible in her awareness with each passing moment.  She was utterly terrified for Chakotay, the goddamn fool for getting himself mixed up in this, angry at herself for destroying everything she'd labored to protect  for the past two years.  She never wanted him involved.  Never!  How could she have been so stupid?

            _I wonder how many people Durant's killed by now?_  She thought morbidly.  The faces of her old crew and the numbers mounted increasingly in her mind as the minutes ticked by.  How many would Durant kill in retaliation?  How many would he kill for each hour she was gone?

            Hours passed.  Occasionally she engaged Chakotay in the pointless argument again, but more often she paced.  She was constantly on the verge of tears, teetering towards the brink of collapse.  The irrational woman in her wanted to throw herself into Chakotay's arms in gratitude for taking her away from those terrible men, and to hell with the crew.  To hell with the Federation.  But she also wanted to rip his throat out for doing this to her; this escape was false.  They had her crew, everyone she knew and cared about utterly at their mercy.  A snap of Durant's fingers and the Orion Syndicate would flex its muscles and obliterate them from existence.   She was still their prisoner, no matter where Chakotay took her.

            She was trapped.  She couldn't tell Chakotay the truth.  She started to say something every once in a while out of sheer desperation, but her throat clamped over her own words.  Two years of conditioning, of fearful silence could not be cast aside in fifteen hours.  They weren't here in this ship to stop her, yet she felt their presence like a chain around her neck.  Durant.  Empek the mobster, Tondra the political zealot.  They would not hesitate.  If she peeped a word to Chakotay, they would strike him down and leave her bereft.

            And even deeper in her awareness was the irrational fear of Chakotay's reaction...  After all this time, thinking about him, clinging to his memory, she couldn't bear to see the disgust on his face, the sheer disgust he'd feel at seeing her reduced to this.  A woman who had stood up to the Borg Queen, faced down foes twice her size, utterly unable to overcome a situation concocted by one little man.  A Starfleet Captain, reduced to decorative girlfriend, to trophy wife, and soon to brood mare and whore.  A woman who'd gotten her own family and five of her crew killed.  He'd feel disgust that he'd ever touched her, ever believed in her, ever trusted her with his well-being.

            But her silence was deadly.  Chakotay wouldn't return her without the truth, or a decent lie.  The longer she was away from Durant, the worse the price would be for those she loved.

            Kathryn cursed herself.  She should have gone to the goddamn fertility clinic.  If Durant had wanted her after that, she should have let him have her.  Stupid woman, fighting the inevitable.  There would have been no drug to cloud her judgment, and no price to pay now.  No terrible price.

            Her brooding ceased when the world abruptly blackened around her; her legs almost buckled.  She barely stumbled back to her chair in time, and when Chakotay scanned her with a tricorder then pressed some water to her lips and a fork with scrambled eggs, she drank and ate dutifully until she felt sickeningly full.

            "I told you that you needed to eat something," he noted quietly.

            As the dizziness faded, she said dully,  "I thought you threw those eggs away."

            "I threw away the ones you knocked out of my hand.  I replicated another plate."

            "But I wasted your rations--" she stopped.

            He stared at her, appalled.  "I'd never feed you something off the floor."

            She crossed her arms tightly across her chest and closed her eyes, disoriented.  What had just happened?  He'd wasted his rations.  Twice.  She'd knocked them away the first time, the second time she couldn't finish, yet he didn't level a word of blame at her.  The realization touched her, and she felt a stab of pain in her chest at his compassion, his goodness.  Her eyes stung with tears.

            Durant and Empek.  If she'd done that to Durant, he would have shoved her face down, or he'd have Empek do it.  He would have made her eat them off the floor, lick the last traces away.  Maybe Empek would have pissed on them first.  A lesson.  Always a lesson.

            She hadn't realized she was crying until Chakotay pulled her up against his chest.  And then she couldn't hold back the terrible, heart-wrenching sobs as the fear and dread overwhelmed her.  It sent tremors, violent tremors through her whole body.  He held her still against him and she tried to focus on him and not think of Durant just a few hours earlier holding her in the same way.  

            Durant, with his terrible contradictions.  One minute a monster, the next almost human.  After she poisoned him, he had everything she ate and drank poisoned.  She avoided it until she was forced out of sheer thirst to drink the doctored water.  Day after day for two weeks, each time forced by thirst to drink, each time falling ill.  Doubled over in painful cramps, throwing up the small amount she'd managed to consume before the toxin kicked in, he pulled her hair back from her face, stroked her back, injected her with whatever nutrients she needed to survive.  He smiled to see her sweet relief when she finished a glass without the horrible nausea striking her down, when she realized that her punishment was over.

            His punishments, always a magnification of her offense, always with the terrible element of mercy that made her despise him even more.  Had he been devoid of humanity, she could have understood him.  But he clearly had compassion, he clearly had ethics, and he could still do this to her.  He was destroying her.  Every day he was killing her a bit more.  He knew it, he seemed to feel some measure of remorse for it, yet he did it anyway.

            And she'd never see her mother or her sister again because of him.

            Kathryn felt a stab of despair.  That had been the worst blow, the most horrible.  If he'd started off any other way, she might have had a clear enough head to stop the situation before it escalated. She might have been able to wriggle her way out.  But he had killed them both, and so brutally... so very brutally; it had blotted out her thought process.  She could do nothing but comply, numb and shell-shocked.  The sheer disbelief that this could happen, just months after reaching the sweet haven of Earth...

            She still hadn't recovered from that blow; she never had a chance.  It was always one demand after another with him, one more concession on her part, one more indignity.  Always the public front, the plaster smile, the fabricated words.  No one ever gave her a moment to mourn, or to simply breathe.  Their faces, the faces of the only family she'd had left, were fading from her mind every day, disappearing before she'd even reconciled herself to the fact that they were gone.

            She was bawling like a child now, wailing really, and she suddenly felt mortified.  She would have died before she'd let Chakotay see her like this.  On Voyager her grief was her own; she never burdened another with it.  But now she couldn't stop.  It had been so long, so very long, since she'd had a friend, a genuine friend.

            Chakotay was stroking her back now, whispering soothing words into her hair.  She relished the feel of his arms around her, while retaining the terrible knowledge that this would be the last time she'd ever feel them.

            As time passed, and her tears began to die down, she asked, "Why are you doing this?  You must hate me." Her voice was muffled against his chest.

            There was a long moment of silence, then,  "No.  I don't hate you.  I could never truly hate you, Kathryn, even when I tried." 

            Her heart swelled with warmth and affection for this man, this gentle soul.  Chakotay.  She loved him.  God how she loved him.  That night, that one night with him, had been her sustenance for over a year.  This moment of tenderness, she knew, could help her through the dark days of the future.  She clutched to him tighter, holding him fiercely, dreading that she'd soon have to let him go.  

            Her mind flashed back to the bridge before she sought assimilation, all those years ago.  Fear and dread kept her glued to her seat, and for a long moment she felt her courage faltering.  Chakotay, his eyes filled with love and support, his hand clutching hers, was only thing that propelled her from her seat and into the turbolift.  And now, for the sake of this man who held her in his arms, and for the sake of the friends they both cherished, she had to walk into another certain calamity.  She could do it.  She was strong.

            "Do you want to talk about it now?" His gentle voice brought her out of her reverie, bringing back the reality of the situation.

            She pulled back out of his arms, and his dark eyes on her with concern.  Kathryn managed a shaky smile, wiping the last of her tears away with unsteady fingers.  "No.  It's truly nothing.  It's been a stressful week.  I'm sorry to burden you, Commander."

            His expression cooled at the use of his old rank.  "Do you need anything?"

            She'd been expecting that question.  "Well, I could use another cup of coffee."  As he rose, she put a hand on his arm to stop him.  "I can get it, please sit."

            He sat back down with a half smile.  Janeway stood up, her expression guileless, her thoughts scheming.  She walked around the bend to the replicator, discreetly taking note of the various storage compartments, picking out the weapon's locker.  She activated the replicator command for coffee, and the humming of the replicator masked the sound of the weapons locker sliding open.  Janeway grabbed the nearest hand phaser, and felt suddenly reassured by its solid weight in her hand.

            "Can I get you anything, Chakotay?" she called as she approached the cockpit.

            The oblivious Chakotay replied,  "No, I'm fine."  She could see his dark head turned away from her.

            "Then maybe you could do something for me."   Kathryn emerged into the navigational cockpit and leveled the phaser at him.  He turned and she watched surprise flitter across his face.  He looked her, then at the phaser, then back at her. 

              "What do you plan to do with that, Admiral?" he asked in an even tone.

            Janeway stared him down, her eyes narrow.  She spoke in the sharp voice of command.  "You're going to turn this shuttle around and fly me back to Deep Space Seven immediately.  Understood?"

            "And why would I do that?" he asked calmly, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair in an infuriating show of calm.

            "Because if you don't," Janeway said in a soft, threatening voice,  "I will shoot you and fly the ship back myself."

            He smiled knowingly, and she suddenly had a bad feeling about this.

            "You'll find that rather difficult.  The control padd responds to my DNA signature alone.  You can't navigate the ship or even activate the communications equipment without my touch."

            Janeway thought rapidly about that, then smirked at him with arrogant self-possession.  "There's no reason you have to be conscious when I press your fingers to the controls," she said flippantly.

            She felt a sudden sinking dismay when he only smiled wider.  "The course is locked in and protected with a security code.  Unless you have my security clearance, Kathryn, there's absolutely nothing you can do to alter it."

            Janeway didn't believe him.  It wasn't possible.  He had to be lying.  It was too goddamn convenient for him.

            Keeping her phaser on him, she prowled over, grabbed his hand, manipulated his limp fingers across the console.  He made no moves against her, simply smiled smugly.  The computer screen requested her security code.  She tried to tap into the communications array, only to receive another request for a security code.

            In mounting frustration, Janeway let go of his wrist and whirled on him with a growl,  "Tell me the security code!"

            Chakotay shook his head briefly.

            Infuriated, Janeway fired a warning shot at the wall behind him.  Chakotay ducked reflexively as the beam hit, then looked back to stare at the white sparks still spraying from the charred bulkhead.

            Janeway let him see that, then repeated in her most menacing tone,  "Tell me the security code now, Chakotay!"

            "What will you do?  Stun me?  That won't help.  Kill me, Kathryn?" he asked, his expression unreadable.

            "If I have to."

            He shook his head.  "I don't think you will."

            "Don't test me," she said coldly.

            He scrutinized her intently, seeming to gauge her intent.  "No, you won't."

            With a growl of frustration, Janeway fired again, over his head.  He didn't even flinch.

            "Shoot the wall up all you want, Kathryn.  It's not going to work.  You won't kill me."

            "Oh won't I?" her voice was high, with an edge of desperation to it.

            "No, you won't.  We both know that killing me won't help you hack into that system.  And besides," he added softly, "We both know you can't kill me."

            "Oh?  You're that sure of your worth to me, aren't you?" she meant it as a taunt, but her unsteady voice and faltering confidence ruined the effect.

            He said nothing.  She kept the phaser on him, even as he stood up and approached her.  Kathryn was at a loss.  What could she do?

            "Kathryn, put the phaser down," he urged her, his dark eyes intent.  "You're not going to get anywhere this way."

            After a few moments in which they both knew she was defeated, she jerked the phaser back to her side, angrier than ever.  Chakotay reached out to take the phaser from her, but she clutched it to her side in a compulsive grip, her glare challenging him to dare reach for it again.  He shrugged and turned away, letting her keep the phaser if it made her feel better.

            Janeway cradled the useless phaser in her arms, crushingly aware that she was out of options. 


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight 

            The last time Durant had been wounded, he was 30 years old.  He was carving a turkey at a diplomatic function, a good joke had distracted him, and he gashed the knife right against his hand.  It was shortly after the war, and although he'd never been injured in the Cardassian conflict, the carnage he'd seen there had steeled him for the disconcerting moment when blood seeped from the numbed slit in his hand.  He remained fairly collected, waiting for the fretting Andorian attaché to retrieve a dermal regenerator and heal his wound.  The instrument had swept right over his wound, and when he wiped the blood away, the skin underneath was smooth and unbroken.

            Now, however, nineteen years later, comfortable living worked against him.  The first few moments after he was stabbed were filled with sheer terror, watching his half-crazed wife flail the damned broken bottle around, then blessedly move away from him and dash out into the corridor like some rabid animal.  It took him a few moments to comprehend that the danger from her was over.  He was aware that his body was shaking, his hand clenching convulsively over the wound in his abdomen.  He raised it slightly, saw thick red blood coating his skin, his fingers, and he gaped with disbelief, suddenly feeling light-headed.  This couldn't be happening.

            He tried to catch his breath, to focus his thoughts.  His first impulse was to call Doctor Tondra, and a renewed fright surged through him when he remembered that he had left her on Earth.  He cursed himself for leaving her behind, and he nearly followed the impulse to summon someone from the station medical bay, catching himself at the last minute.  He couldn't exactly explain this to them, nor come up with a lie in his current state of mind.  He had to call Empek.  He needed Empek.

            He sent the transmission, told him in a jagged voice that Janeway had attacked him, that he needed help.  Mere seconds passed before the imposing, ashen-haired man barreled through his door into his quarters.  Durant nearly collapsed in relief at the sight of his stalwart associate.

            "Empek, I'm bleeding.  I'm bleeding badly--" Durant began.  He pulled his trembling fist up from the wound in his side to showcase it for his associate.

            Empek's threw a cursory glance at Durant's wound, but focused instead on stalking around the quarters, reminding Durant of a restless tiger.  "Computer, locate Admiral Janeway."

            "_Admiral Janeway's location is unknown._"  

            Empek whirled on him.  "Where's Janeway?"

            "You're worried about Janeway?" Durant sputtered incredulously, the absurdity registering through his mounting sense of panic.  "I've been stabbed, Empek--"

            Empek shot him a withering look.  "You have a flesh wound, Admiral Durant.  I could see that with one glance.  Were it anything more, you would be doubled over on the floor, half-conscious and bleeding profusely."  He took a step closer to Durant, and asked,  "Where is Janeway?"

            Disconcerted...  "She-- that bitch, the bitch stabbed me...  I'll kill her--" Durant rasped, enraged, distraught.  She'd nearly given him a heart attack.  The bitch was crazed.  He truly believed for a few moments there that she was going to kill him.  She was insane--

            "Yes, she did, and she will pay accordingly later.  What I want to know is-- _where is she now?_"

            Durant looked up sharply, suddenly realizing that he'd given no thought to her, that he hadn't even considered what she might have done once she fled.  He suddenly felt sick with dread.

            "I don't know.  She ran out into the corridor."

            An unreadable look darted across Empek's face, then he lanced over with inhuman speed, grasped Durant's arm, and yanked him towards the door.  "Is she contacting station security?  We must--"

            "Ow, shit!"  Durant winced away, hissing at the sudden pain his movement aroused.  He clamped his hand to his side, over the searing wound.  He saw that Empek would spare him no breathing room, and sought to reassure him.  "No, no,"  Durant said,  "No, it's okay.  I gave her something-- a sedative.  She's got to be out of it by now.  She'll be unconscious; she can't talk to anyone.  We're okay.  We can just find her.  She won't be far."  

            He could see that his words failed to reassure Empek, and he disliked the dubious look on the larger man's normally impassive face as they walked out into the corridor to search.

            After prowling up and down the hall, inquiring at the nearby crew quarters with no results, Durant grew increasingly agitated.  The situation was out of control.  It had just spun out of control.  What the hell had she been thinking?  Didn't she know--

            Empek abruptly shuffled him back into his own quarters, turned on him, grasped Durant by the arm and jerked him face to face, within centimeters of his dark gaze.  "What happened?"

            Durant was unsettled.  "Is this really the time--"

            Empek's tone was unyielding.  "The specifics, Admiral!"

            Durant took a breath.  He would have preferred to leave Empek out of this.  Damn Janeway...  "I gave her something, a drug--"

            "What drug?"

            Durant pulled slightly back out of Empek's grasp.  "Nerium.  And she--"

            "Nerium's an illegal substance," Empek said intently, suddenly gripping Durant again.  "And I did not acquire it for you."

            Durant suddenly shook his head, agitated.  This was ridiculous.  Precious time was going by.  "We're wasting our time.  We should go to--"

            "How did you get your hands upon Nerium, Admiral?"  Empek demanded in a cold voice that reminded Durant of Empek's frequent interrogations of Janeway.

            Durant felt more than a little put off that this petty thug would dare raise that tone with him, and his voice was hard and belligerent as he began,  "On the station promenade, there was a man who had some in stock--"

            "You went to a small time drug dealer on a Starfleet space station?  A station equipped with security cameras, security personnel, and a thousand people who will more likely than not recognize you?" Empek's voice was lower than usual, a strange look in his eyes.

            "He wasn't the type who'd know me, I didn't see--"

            His words died on his lips as Empek took a step impossibly closer, and Durant was suddenly unsettlingly aware of how much larger, how much stronger the other man was.  He vividly remembered Empek twisting Janeway's arm like it was putty--

            "That was the single most foolish thing you could have done, Admiral,"  Empek's voice was deadly soft.

            Durant wasn't sure what to say.  Empek stepped back, allowing Durant space to breathe.

            As Durant struggled to collect himself, Empek censured,  "The Orion Syndicate put forth a significant investment in you, Admiral.  The Syndicate expects you to fulfill our expectations, but instead of taking our generous investment into consideration, you risked squandering it by purchasing an illegal substance from a narcotics dealer.  Do you realize what would have happened had you been caught?  Do you realize that you gambled everything we have worked for-- and for what?  Nerium?  Why did you need it?"

            Durant didn't answer, but he didn't have to.  The perceptive Empek's voice was colored by not a little contempt.

            "You feared subduing a woman half your strength, half your weight."  At Durant's look, he said,  "Oh, yes, Admiral, I know quite a bit more than you might think.  You were not brave enough to take her in a direct confrontation, or humble enough to request my assistance, so you played the fool and put all of us in jeopardy."

            "Empek--"

            "Do you realize what I have to do now, Admiral?"  Empek continued implacably.  "I have to order a hit upon whatever narcotics dealer sold you the Nerium, and upon whomever he might have spoken with since the time you gave him your business.  I have to order the obliteration of station security recordings in the promenade, and the execution of any passer Byers who possibly saw your transaction.  I have to exterminate anyone who might have seen Admiral Janeway since she escaped, and I have to send people under the pretense of illness to the medical bay to intercept her should anyone find her and discover the Nerium in her bloodstream.  

            "Additionally, I will either have to run a bio signature scan of the entire station-- which could take hours-- in order to locate Admiral Janeway.  That procedure often meets little success, and failing that I will need to analyze station security logs to track her movement, which will again require great time and effort in the theft of station security codes and the hacking of the system.  On top of all this, I have to figure out why, exactly, the main computer cannot get a fix on Janeway's location, and even with all these precautions, we could run into additional problems... For example, should someone of dubious intent come across your wife-- incapacitated and alone-- recognize her, and choose to exploit her weakness for profit or other ill-design; that would be a grave scenario.  I may have to bribe countless officials to avoid investigation once I finish this damage control... Do you understand now the situation you have put me in?"

            Durant was angry now at the other man's unwarranted criticism.

            "If you have so very much work to do, Empek," Durant said coldly,  "I suggest you shut the hell up and get started."

            "_What did you say to me?_" 

            A look-- was it rage, contempt, malice?-- flickered across the other man's normally empty black eyes, and suddenly Durant's courage faltered, and he dreadfully regretted the rash remark.  

            Durant took a steadying breath.  "I apologize, Empek.  You're right, I put you in a bad situation, and I apologize for bringing this all about.  Know I have full confidence in you," Durant tried to force the easy tone of authority back into his voice.  "I wouldn't have anyone else do this for me--"

            "I am not doing this for you," Empek countered softly, an ominous light gleaming in his eyes.  "Perhaps, Admiral, you overstep your bounds because you fail to recognize that the Syndicate does not work for you; _I_ do not work for you."

            Empek took a step closer to Durant, towering over him.

            "You, Admiral Durant," he said softly,  "work for us.  And it could prove very unfortunate for you if you forget that."

            At that moment, Empek's expression and voice, cold as ice, inspired in Durant the same cold fear he was used to seeing in his wife.  He was trained enough to steel his facial expression into neutrality, but Empek must have smelled his terror.  The knowing look in the other man's eyes told Durant that any attempt to hide it was futile.

            Empek turned then, glided soundlessly out the door and vanished around the bend of the corridor.  

            Durant stood there a long moment.  He became aware of a renewed throbbing of his wound-- _a flesh wound_, he recalled with not a little resentment,and he headed back into the guest bedroom to hunt for a dermal regenerator.

            It was difficult to heal his wound.  The hand clutching the dermal regenerator was trembling too violently for precision. 

*          *            *

            Almost an hour had passed.  Chakotay sent a few coded transmissions, Janeway remained silent.  Then, she suddenly spoke from behind him,  "It's a classified mission."

            Chakotay smiled skeptically to himself; he'd been wondering how long it would take her to resort to lying.  "Oh?"

            She nodded, leaning forward enthusiastically.  "It's not something I was supposed to tell.  You see, Admiral Durant-- you're right, I don't love him.  It was business, but Admiral Durant-- you see, he's a Founder."

            "Founder?"

            "A changeling.  Yes.  But you see, ever since the treaty with the Dominion was signed, the Founders have been staying clear of Starfleet, so we weren't entirely sure what--"  She stopped, suddenly catching the fundamental flaw in her words that Chakotay had immediately spotted.  Chakotay had seen Durant's blood on her tunic.  Changelings didn't bleed.

            She must have lost her story right then, because she tried to cover with a clumsy, "I mean-- Durant's a changeling, but you see, there's also the real Admiral Durant."

            "Of course.  The real Admiral Durant," Chakotay murmured tonelessly.

            "The changeling doesn't know he's alive, but he and I are working together to stop the changeling.  And sometimes the changeling's Empek."

            "You mean, the changeling doesn't only impersonate one person?" Chakotay said innocently.

            She forged on,  "I accidentally stabbed him, Durant I mean, because I thought he was the changeling--"

            "And we all know how much it hurts a formless goo to have a sharp instrument plunged into it," Chakotay said, smiling.

            She didn't even listen to him.  "I made the mistake because I was in my quarters and somewhat disoriented. See, earlier-- oh, I completely forgot to tell you-- I accidentally took Nerium when I meant to take a painkiller for a headache I had.  Oh, and Durant..."

            She trailed off; Chakotay was laughing outright now.  "Dear God, Kathryn, you used to lie better than that."

            Janeway faltered, then grew angry.  "You're not even hearing me out.  I'm not lying."

            "You can't even decide who the changeling is!" Chakotay exclaimed.  "And you 'accidentally' took Nerium?  What-- it was just lying around for you?  I can't believe that's the best you can come up with."

            After a frustrated silence, Janeway scowled fiercely and hissed,  "Let's see you do better."

            He was still chuckling when she whirled away once again.

*          *            *

            "Commander Chakotay," Empek reported nearly twenty hours after Janeway's flight.

            Durant looked up in surprise, still clutching the reassuring hand of the just-arrived Doctor Tondra in his own.  "Chakotay?  That can't be.  We stopped by his quarters--"

            "--But we failed to search them.  He took Janeway off the station," Empek intoned.  "He beamed her onto his ship and departed.  Her bio signature leads directly to his door, and the transporter logs confirm that her pattern dematerialized from his room."

            Durant took a breath, thinking over the situation.  He'd had almost a day to regain his composure, his center, and he felt more in charge of the situation now than before.  He was clear-headed enough to think, and he was very intent on solving this mystery before Empek.

            "Chakotay.  Why?  She despises him..." Durant murmured.

            Empek leaned closer to him, his eyes narrowed.  "I pointed out to you months ago, Admiral, that many of Janeway's log entries, especially concerning the Commander, had been altered and doctored.  You failed to deal her an adequate punishment.  I could have extracted the truth from her, had you permitted it.  She could easily have--"

            "No!" Durant interrupted, his voice firm, angry again.  "Empek, I know for a fact that the woman hates him."  

            She couldn't have fooled him; he knew her, damn it...  There was no way she could have lied to his face about that for two years straight.  He was a good judge of character, especially when it came to her.  He owned that woman; he knew every emotion that flickered in her eyes, he could decipher every facial expression, every fluxuation in her tone.  He _knew_ when she was lying.  He would never believe that she was capable of pulling the wool so completely over his eyes.  He couldn't believe it.

            "Nabusha," Durant said suddenly, glancing over at Doctor Tondra,  "If she was dosed up on 20 mg of Nerium, how long could she have remained coherent?"

            Tondra looked at him with impassive, dark eyes.  "I'm surprised she remained clear-headed enough to run down the corridor, much less coherent enough to plot escape with Commander Chakotay."  A pause.  "If you gentlemen don't mind my saying, I believe it is sharply out of character for Janeway to flee like this.  She knows the consequences; she's never displayed such a horrendous lapse in judgment before.  It's true that the Nerium clouded her thought process-- hence the attack on you, John...  But she would never have attempted escape.  I find it difficult to believe she would flee the station intentionally."

            "What are you suggesting?" Durant asked quietly.

            Tondra raised a sharp eyebrow.  "I wouldn't presume to suggest anything, Admiral.  I'm simply elucidating my opinion of the matter."

            "I think you _are_ implying something," Durant said with a bit of a smile.  "And I was thinking the same thing.  You think... maybe she was kidnapped?"

            "Doubtful," Empek scoffed with an infuriatingly casual disregard for their intellectual prowess.

            Durant ignored him.  "Think about it!"  He looked over at Doctor Tondra, grateful that at least she seemed receptive of his words.  "Chakotay-- a man in love...  Empek, you saw those logs, you saw that he cared about her.   He was a man scorned, and last night, he may have walked out into the corridor, or heard some commotion, and found her right there, unconscious.  The man was a criminal, we all know that... he has a history of disregarding ethical considerations; he may have found her there, and after two trying days of seeing his love cavorting with her husband, he simply snapped.  Then and there, he decided to grab her.  It's the perfect opportunity--"

            "I don't find this assumption in character with Command Chakotay in the least," Empek cut in.  "He displayed a good deal of fondness for her in his logs, true, but he was not a violent--"

            "You're talking about a Maquis terrorist, for God's sake!"  Durant exclaimed harshly.  "How can you say he's not a violent man?  A man who can quit Starfleet to butcher people over some perceived grievance won't quail at kidnapping one woman.  If he's in love-- no, if he's _fixated_ on her, and he has absolutely no way to win her affections--"

            "Janeway did seem unusually ill-disposed towards the man," Tondra chimed in thoughtfully.

            "--And what would stop him?  Nothing!  You did say," he said looking over at Tondra,  "That there was a very slim chance she could have remained coherent long enough to even speak with him.  She didn't plot an escape with him because she wasn't _capable_ of plotting with him."

            Even with Empek's characteristic lack of expression, Durant could tell he remained skeptical.

            "Empek--" Durant admonished, looking intently at the other man to draw his attention.  "Look at the facts.  He loves her.  She hates him.  She's married to another man.  He must have been jealous.  Violently jealous.  He has a violent past.  She was incapacitated and literally lying at his doorstep.  He kidnapped her; it's the only explanation that makes sense."

            "Why did Janeway seek out Chakotay's quarters, then?" Empek demanded.

            "He was right down the corridor.  She was running, she collapsed, and by sheer coincidence, she landed there." 

            "And Janeway's doctored logs?" Empek inquired dubiously.

            "Maybe she was protecting him," Durant said.  "What if he displayed this type of behavior on Voyager?  It's not impossible to consider.  She was certainly concerned with protecting the Maquis when Voyager returned; perhaps she believed that casting Chakotay in a favorable light would go very far towards helping the entire Maquis crew.  She could have doctored the entries to cover up for any misconduct on his part simply to protect her crew in the court of public opinion."

            "It seems to me, Admiral Durant, that you're stretching," Empek said tonelessly.

            "Then what do you believe, Empek?" he asked.  "That she's in league with the man?  That they planned this all along?"

            Empek hesitated, then,  "No."  A pause.  "I am uncertain what to believe.  But this... explanation sounds too simplistic.  It does not feel right."

            "Well frankly, Empek, I don't give a damn how it feels to you," Durant snapped, feeling emboldened by Doctor Tondra's presence by his side.  "I think this is the truth, and I want to operate under that assumption.  And you can quote me to your boss."

            Empek's eyes were cold and hard on him.  "Very well.  We will find out which of us is correct once we apprehend the Admiral."

            "If we do find her," Durant said spitefully.  "You've just been sitting around here.  What the hell do I need you guys for if you're not going to look for her?"

            Empek seemed slightly defensive as he replied,  "The Syndicate is already moving to locate Admiral Janeway and Commander Chakotay.  His itinerary indicates that his course is set for Talus IV; if we do not intercept him en route, there will be people waiting planet side for him.  We _will_ apprehend them, Admiral."

            "And what if you don't?  He's probably changed his itinerary."

            "There is always the chance that he'll evade us for a longer period of time than is desirable," Empek admitted.  "But he cannot hide forever.  And if we encounter this scenario, you will have to provide some public explanation to account for Admiral Janeway's absence."

            Durant thought it over a moment.  "Maybe... maybe we can tell them the truth."

            Tondra looked over at him curiously.  "John?"

            "She was kidnapped," Durant said, a shadow of a smile on his lips.  "Drugged and kidnapped by a lovelorn former member of her crew.  I, her loving husband, valiantly attempted to intervene, and I was viciously stabbed for my efforts."  He looked between the other two smugly.  "How is that for PR?  We won't have to spend a day campaigning; every news agency will follow Admiral Jonathan Durant-- the grieving, yet dignified husband who put his very life on the line for the sake of his beloved wife.  A family man, a soldier.  It's practically a fairy tale.  Jesus, the sympathy vote alone could give me a majority."

            Empek was scowling.  "I don't like it.  It could grow complicated, especially once Admiral Janeway is located.  There will be intense investigation.  There are too many potential problems--"

            "They're going to find out she's missing anyway, Empek, whether we like it or not," Durant's voice was vaguely patronizing.  "There's an opportunity here, and opportunity _I will not miss._  Don't you understand-- this could be the trick.  This single act, if we play it right, could hand me the presidency."  He leaned towards Empek.  "Think of your investment.  Think of how displeased your superiors would be if you passed up such a golden opportunity."

            Empek clearly did not take kindly to Durant's attempt to hound him.  He said in an icy voice, "My superiors will also not take it kindly if I let you take a foolish risk and you fail.  You are already faring well in the polls--"

            "Forty-three percent," Durant snapped.  "Even if Sovar loses votes to McGregor, assuming he'll even run, I won't have a mandate with forty-three percent.  I can't get my reforms through if I don't have a landslide victory, and unlike you guys, I'm not in politics just for the power."

            "If this goes badly," Empek warned,  "My superiors will be very displeased with me, and if that happens, I will be very displeased with you."

            Durant suddenly hated this man, this idiot who believed he understood better than him how to run his game.  John Durant was top of his class at the academy, a captain at thirty-two, an Admiral just ten years later.  He was doing the Orion Syndicate a favor by allowing them a chance at true influence in the Federation.  This bastard who could do little more than twist some arms would realize very quickly that he'd underestimated Jonathan Durant.

            "You'll see, Empek.  The day I take office, I want to hear you repeat all the reasons why this decision was a mistake.  By then, you'll have realized exactly how wrong you are."

            "If that day comes," Empek said quietly,  "Then I assure you, I will own up to my mistakes.  _My_ judgement is not clouded by misplaced pride."

            With those words, the conversation was abruptly terminated.

            Empek chose the time to leave, and Durant began to mull over a few private thoughts.  He smiled at one point with some hidden knowledge.  His abrupt shift in mood seemed to surprise Tondra, and her lips quirked into a slight smile of her owm.

            "You seem fairly cheerful," she noted.  "You are that confident this will succeed?"

            "Well, yes I'm confident about it... but I was actually thinking of something else entirely," Durant replied smoothly, rising to his feet to grab a drink from the counter.

            "Something else?"

            "Or should I say, someone else." He clutched his Saurian Brandy and gazed out the view port into space.  His expression was suddenly sinister, his eyes glittering.  "I've been contemplating just what to do with my wayward wife, once I get my hands on her."  Unconsciously fingering the spot of his recent injury, he looked darkly towards the bedroom, and his lips twisted into a queer, unsettling smile.  "Oh, but she'll regret it."  He nodded to himself, raising the bottle to his lips, and muttered quietly,  "God help me, I'll make her regret it."


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine  
  
As time dragged on, Kathryn found herself growing increasingly tired. Chakotay already slumbered in the pilot's seat, but Kathryn was disinclined to rest in the seat next to him again. Her neck still had a kink from her earlier nap in the uncomfortable chair.  
  
She searched the small vessel and located two makeshift bunks in the back room. She stretched herself out on the bottom one and drifted into an uneasy sleep.  
  
After an interminable period of time, she was awoken by a vague rumbling sensation. Janeway lay there with her eyes closed, desiring sleep, reluctant to face another trial. She tried to identify the sensation. The ship's trembling was too soft for weapon's fire, too pronounced for mere turbulence. A tractor beam?  
  
Kathryn opened her eyes and saw a large Bajoran glowering down at her.  
  
She felt little surprise; truthfully, it had taken them longer to catch her than she'd expected. She just wished she'd thought of something more compelling to say than her simple, "Please don't hurt him."  
  
The Bajoran grunted. She wasn't sure how to interpret his reply as he grasped her under the arm with a gloved fist and yanked her out of the bunk. He pulled her around and with a firm shove propelled her towards the navigational pit. Janeway followed his directives uneasily.  
  
They emerged into the navigational pit, and she saw on the view screen a small vessel holding Chakotay's ship with a tractor beam. Two men already had Chakotay on the floor, one pinning down each arm. A third seemed to be in charge of the situation, and he looked over towards Janeway as she entered. Chakotay raised his head to see as well, and Janeway felt a knot in her throat when she saw his face, pummeled and bloody.  
  
"Are they the only two onboard?" the leader asked the Bajoran gripping Janeway's arm.  
  
"Yes. I conducted a thorough search."  
  
The leader, a large Orion male, raked his eyes over her coldly for a moment before asking, "Did he assault her?"  
  
"No," Janeway answered. "He didn't."  
  
They ignored her as though she were mute. The man next to her grasped her pants around the waist and yanked them down to her knees. Janeway focused on the floor, humiliated, while he wriggled a finger into her. At the bottom of her vision, she could see her pale and gangly legs trembling in the cold air of the shuttle like the limbs of a scared child. She felt sick knowing that Chakotay was watching this.  
  
"Doesn't feel like it," the man said gruffly. He pulled her pants back up with a firm jerk.  
  
"That's fortunate," the Orion said, turning to glare down at the man on the floor, "For you. If you'd assaulted Admiral Durant's wife," he said slowly, "I would have severed your genitals and choked you with them."  
  
Chakotay looked up at the Orion through one angry, glittering eye, the other too swollen for sight. His voice was jagged as he said, "I would never hurt her. I have respect for a woman's dignity, unlike you assholes--"  
  
The Orion's foot swung out and connected brutally with Chakotay's jaw. A pained cry tore from his lips, and his head jerked sideways. He seemed to slump down, disoriented. Janeway, in a sudden rage, almost ripped forward to defend her friend. She caught herself. Cold reason stayed her charge. Chakotay might still have a chance to escape this alive. But if she gave her feelings away now...  
  
Gods. Her next words could determine whether he'd live or die.  
  
She cleared her throat to catch the leader's attention. "Excuse me, Mister--" she paused, uncertain what to call him. The Orion glanced over at her as though she were some fly, daring to speak.  
  
"Don't worry, we'll get around to you, too, Janeway."  
  
She ignored him. "Listen, you've found us. Please, you have me. He's no threat to you, why don't you just forget about him--"  
  
"You asking me to let him go? Preposterous!" His eyes narrowed into small slits. "I don't want your advice, Janeway. You would be well advised to remain silent."  
  
Janeway felt suddenly desperate, fearful. "He was a Maquis," her voice trembled somewhat as she spoke. Her nightmare was coming true. No, she couldn't lose Chakotay, not after all of this. "He was a Maquis," she said again, "And he still has friends. They'd be very angry if he were killed--"  
  
"Maquis," the Orion scoffed, glancing down at Chakotay with undisguised contempt. "The Dominion obliterated the Maquis years ago. They have no influence." He looked up again to scrutinize her expression. "You seem rather upset at the prospect of his death, Admiral Janeway. You're fond of the man who abducted you?"  
  
She knew he was trying to pry something out of her, and she steeled her expression. "It's nothing personal. I just hate violence. Please. I don't want anyone else to die on my account."  
  
He sneered at that. "Such a humanitarian!" He looked down at Chakotay again. "Oh, don't worry. He has some time yet. We have quite a few questions for Mr. Chakotay here, don't we?" The Orion pressed his foot under Chakotay's chin and nudged the disoriented man's head up. "We'd like to know how this little abduction came about... We wouldn't want to rely on the good Admiral's word alone."  
  
Janeway bowed her head, her heart pounding, a sense of hopelessness washing over her. It was too late. They were going to kill him. They were going to torture and then kill him, and it was her fault. There was no way to save him. Everything she'd tried, everything she'd done, for nothing. She was going to be Durant's slave for the rest of her days, and Chakotay... her love, her life was going to be dead.  
  
She was too desolate for tears. For anything. She stood there, staring at the ground, hearing the voices buzz around her, trying not to look at her violently abused friend.  
  
The voices suddenly grew loud, reached a crescendo, and Janeway looked up sharply to see what they were shouting about. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a bright flash, and when she looked over, she saw the ship that had been holding Chakotay's in a tractor beam bursting into a large ball of flames.  
  
Her breath left her, her heart pounding violently in her ears again. Hope? Could there be a chance?  
  
"Return fire!" the Orion hissed at one of his subordinates, and the lackey tapped futilely at the console before pounding his fist on it.  
  
"I can't!"  
  
Chakotay's ship abruptly rocked from the unknown attacker's phaser fire.  
  
"Imbecile!" the Orion roared, lancing forward and ripping his lackey from the controls. "I'll do it myself--"  
  
"The control panel's encrypted!" the subordinate shouted, and the Orion shortly discovered the same thing. Disbelief crossed his face. Janeway suddenly felt a smug satisfaction, proud of Chakotay despite her earlier irritation at the very same safety measure.  
  
The ship rocked violently again, nearly sending Janeway to the floor, and raining sparks from a control panel behind her head.  
  
The Orion leader staggered away from the console and swept over to Chakotay, grasping the half-conscious man by his collar and jerking him up to glare into his face. "What's the encryption--"  
  
He never finished his sentence. The blue light of a transporter beam enveloped him. His subordinates disappeared with him.  
  
Janeway stood there, hearing her own breathing in the now nearly- empty shuttle. After a beat, she rushed over to Chakotay. He was a mess. One eye was swollen shut; his nose looked to have been broken. There was dry, caked blood around it and a gash in his cheek. Kathryn could see that his lips were swollen, and the hint of blood at their corners told her that they might have knocked loose a few teeth.  
  
"Chakotay?" she whispered, and she raised a hand to gingerly cup his cheek. Even that slight touch hurt him, and he winced. Janeway recoiled quickly, afraid to touch him.  
  
"Kathryn?" his voice was thick and slurred, his jaw heavy.  
  
"Chakotay, it's going to be okay. They're gone now. Someone--" she looked towards the view screen uncertainly, an unfamiliar ship hovering near them. "Someone helped us."  
  
"M' sorry," he slurred. "Didn't detect them until they--"  
  
"It's not your fault," Kathryn said.  
  
He tried to sit up a little, but she put her hands gingerly on his shoulders to ease him back down. "Careful."  
  
"Kathryn... Who were those people? What did they want?" he asked through gasps of breath.  
  
Janeway's mouth felt suddenly dry. "Chakotay, I'm going to go in back and grab a dermal regenerator. And we have to contact that ship. We may have to get you to a hos--" she started to stand up, but his hand locked around her arm with surprising strength and pulled her back down.  
  
"Kathryn--" His dark eye locked sharply upon her, and he seemed suddenly threatening despite his physical state. "Don't dodge the question."  
  
She looked away from him, reaching up to try to pry his fingers from her arm. "Chakotay, you need medical care."  
  
"Later!" he growled, gritting his teeth as he struggled to sit up again, this time successfully. He was out of breath when he propped his back against the wall, and clearly in a good deal of pain. Chakotay's bruising grip on her arm held her in place. His voice was exasperated. "Damn it, Kathryn, we nearly--"  
  
"Hello?" A familiar voice called from outside the cockpit.  
  
Janeway turned to see Tom Paris enter the room.  
  
Paris looked slightly older than she remembered. He had a shadow of a beard and a confident set of his shoulders. There was a little less mischief in his eyes, a little more austerity in his expression. She knew instantly that this man was a far cry from the immature helmsman she remembered.  
  
She realized her mouth was hanging open, and she quickly recovered his composure. Chakotay was smiling with strained lips as he said, "About time you came, Paris."  
  
"What can I say. Heavy traffic," Paris replied with a smirk. His eyes fell on Janeway, and though he seemed unsurprised by her presence, there was shock in his eyes as he took in her exterior. His voice lacked its usual cockiness as he murmured, "Long time no see, Admiral."  
  
She nodded warily. "It's good to see you, Tom." She threw a glance at Chakotay, still propped up against the wall, and quickly gestured for Tom to come over. "Tom, Chakotay's hurt."  
  
Paris dug in back of a console for a med kit, and Janeway moved aside so Paris could take her place next to Chakotay. He whipped the dermal regenerator across Chakotay's various wounds and abrasions with startling precision and skill.  
  
Janeway sat there watching, feeling useless and somewhat awkward. She sensed that Tom was privy to everything Chakotay was, and she felt uncomfortable knowing that the two men had communicated without her knowledge.  
  
"So, that's your ship?" Janeway asked uncertainly, attempting to break the thick silence, glancing out towards the unfamiliar craft that had rescued them from their captors.  
  
"That's right," Paris said proudly, his bright blue eyes flickering up briefly. "A beauty, isn't she? That baby's the product of three best- selling holonovels."  
  
Chakotay grunted once as Paris nudged his torso, and Tom quickly raised an instrument to knit his broken ribs.  
  
"I'm surprised you found us," Janeway said carefully. "I didn't realize Chakotay had contacted anyone."  
  
Tom looked at her, his expression carefully neutral. "Yeah, he sent us something a few hours ago. It's just lucky for you guys," he gestured around the damaged shuttle, "that B'Elanna and I were taking the kid out on a joyride just a few sectors away. A few minutes more, and you might've been toast."  
  
"Tom," Chakotay asked, "What did you do with the men who were in here? Did you beam them onto your ship?"  
  
"Hell no!" Paris exclaimed. "You think I'd put that mercenary scum within ten feet of my family?"  
  
"But where else could you have beamed--" Chakotay began, then he understood. Janeway listened without expression.  
  
"So, what's the story?" Tom asked, pressing Chakotay's newly healed ribs to make sure they were completely fixed. "I knew their power signature right away. Mercenaries. But why were they here?"  
  
Chakotay looked over at Janeway, and she steeled herself for another session of intrusive questions.  
  
"I think Admiral Janeway was about to tell me." His gaze was pointed. The look Tom sent her also bored into her skull.  
  
Janeway rose to her feet, feeling more comfortable looking down on the two men. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked stubbornly out the view port.  
  
"I don't expect her to answer, of course," Chakotay continued loudly, dark eyes locked on her the whole time. Tom rose to his feet and hoisted Chakotay up with him. "No, Admiral Janeway's been stonewalling me this whole time, hasn't she?"  
  
"She has?" Tom asked.  
  
"Yep. Kathryn has a secret," Chakotay said.  
  
"Must be pretty big," Tom said, his words and intense blue gaze directed more at Kathryn now than Chakotay, "To attract the attention of those guys. I'm guessing they're Syndicate?"  
  
Chakotay sent Tom a startled glance. The sudden hardness in Janeway's eyes gave her away.  
  
Chakotay stared between the two for a few moments, stunned. Then, "My God, Kathryn, what the hell did you do to get the Orion Syndicate after you?"  
  
She looked down at the floor briefly, then spoke, "You were lucky to survive this, Chakotay. You might not be so lucky when they come again," she glanced at Tom briefly, then back at Chakotay, "And I assure you, they'll come again."  
  
After a silence, Janeway said, "Look-- this is my business. I can take care of it. I know it's too dangerous to take me back to Deep Space Seven now, but if you just drop me off at the nearest--"  
  
"Like hell we will," Chakotay snapped. "We're not just going to leave you there."  
  
"I assure you, gentlemen, I'll survive. It's the two of you I'm worried about--"  
  
"Forget it," Tom cut in.  
  
"Kathryn..." Chakotay said, then softer, "You can trust us. Tell us what's going on."  
  
Janeway looked between the two implacable men, and her shoulders slumped. There was no way for her to sway them. She remembered that look, on Chakotay's face, on Tom's. It was in the void. She urged the crew to leave her behind. They could escape through the wormhole. She'd destroy it and catch up to them eventually. She was willing then to condemn herself to exile in the void for the sake of saving her crew and the inhabitants of the void. But her senior staff refused then the same way they were refusing now.  
  
But no. Not this time. There was no third option. There was no third choice.  
  
Janeway held their gazes, steel in her eyes. "Let me make one thing clear: I will never tell you. You are wasting my time and yours. Unless you release me while you still can, you will not live to see the next reunion. Do you understand?" Turning to Paris, "Tom, you have a wife, a child to think about. Do you want them to die with you? And Chakotay," she turned back to the older man. "Are you going to die needlessly for this?"  
  
Chakotay made a decision. He glanced at Paris and saw the same resolve.  
  
"Tom?" He shot a defiant look at his former captain. "Kathryn and I will have to board your shuttle. They know this ship now."  
  
"Sure," Tom replied, glancing at Janeway's unreadable face.  
  
"And maybe you should drop Miral off with someone," Chakotay added. Grimly, "This could get very serious." 


	11. Chapter Ten

1 CHAPTER TEN  
  
B'Elanna Torres peered towards the back of the shuttle as Tom steered them away from Starbase 13. It had been almost five hours since they'd rescued Janeway and Chakotay, and now that Miral was out of danger, B'Elanna felt herself beginning to relax. She settled in her seat, threw a glance at her husband. "I'm going to replicate some lunch. You want some?"  
  
"Nah. I'm good." Tom's eyes were intent on the console before him. She could tell he was still a little anxious about leaving Miral with one of his father's friends on the starbase.  
  
B'Elanna looked again towards the back of the shuttle. "I'm not sure if I should offer them any. You think Chakotay or skeletor back there will be in the mood for eating?"  
  
Tom snorted a little at that. "Oh, come on, B'Elanna, skeletor?"  
  
"She looks like a goddamn corpse, Tom. You had to see that."  
  
"I did, but if she heard you say that--"  
  
"She won't," Torres reassured him, nudging his shoulder. "For God's sake, Tom."  
  
He sighed and ran his hand through his thinning hair, casting a glance behind him "It's just this whole situation. She didn't say a thing. She just sat in this cockpit the whole trip to Starbase 13 and never said a word. I don't know her. That woman... I just keep waiting to see the captain. "  
  
"Chakotay will find out," B'Elanna said confidently. "If you knew him like I know him, Tom..."  
  
He smiled as she rose to her feet and wandered back to the replicator. She flickered her eyes towards the closed door to the aft compartment.  
  
As if reading her thoughts, Tom spoke, "To be a fly on that wall..."  
  
* * *  
  
Chakotay was still staring at her in the unsettling silence.  
  
Kathryn held his stare, her resolve growing stronger with each attempt her three former crewmen made to wrest the truth from her. If those mercenaries had convinced her of one thing, it was of her need to keep them out of this. It was simply too dangerous.  
  
She had held to her silence since her initial stiff greeting with Torres. She'd remain silent until the time came. They couldn't watch her all the time. The second they let their guard down-- near a moon, or a starbase-- she'd be gone. She just prayed the Syndicate didn't catch up with them before that time.  
  
She heard Chakotay sigh across from her.  
  
"Fine." His voice split the silence in the shuttle.  
  
Kathryn made no move to acknowledge he was talking. She looked down at the hands twisted together in her lap.  
  
"Fine," Chakotay repeated. He unwound his large body from the chair and slowly rose to his feet. Hanging back from her a few paces, he set his broad hands on his hips. "You won't tell me about what's happening, and I don't accept it. I don't accept it, but I'll live with it for now."  
  
"How very courteous of you," Janeway drawled, realizing too late that she'd broken her silence.  
  
She watched him cautiously as he stepped away and began to pace, the shuttle light bathing his strong profile in a faint blue.  
  
"But I have to ask you something. I've wanted to ask you this for a while... It's something I didn't understand at the time, and I still don't understand it now."  
  
Her interest was piqued despite herself. "What?"  
  
Chakotay turned to face her, and the anger glittering in his eyes took her breath away. "What was that about? The night of the reunion. Why did you do that to me?"  
  
Janeway looked away from the rage and hurt in his eyes, her mind racing over excuses, trying to think of what she could divulge and what she could not.  
  
He must have read her expression, for he said, "I know there are things you can't tell me. So don't. Just explain what was going on inside your head, Kathryn. I need to know if it meant anything to you or if it was just..." his voice broke off, his expression a rigid mask of control.  
  
"Just what?" Kathryn prompted softly, confusion coloring her voice.  
  
His eyes slipped up to hers, cold and dark. "Just another one of your games."  
  
"My... games?"  
  
The silence hung thick in the air between them.  
  
She stared at him incredulously; he was serious. Her shock suddenly veered towards fury.  
  
"Games?" Kathryn hissed between clenched teeth. "Is that what you think I do? Toy with you? You think I do this for fun?"  
  
His expression hardened. "Don't you?"  
  
Her mouth bobbed open and closed, disbelieving.  
  
Chakotay scoffed. "Don't pretend you're oblivious, Kathryn. You always loved it, didn't you? Pulling my heart on a string. One day smiling, the next day freezing up, one day flirting, the next lecturing about protocol. Was it the only thing you took from us? Did it give you kicks, Kathryn?"  
  
Kathryn's anger grew into a scalding fury, and she shot to her feet. "All those years, Chakotay, everything I felt for you, every time I had to grit my teeth when you fucked one alien slut after another, every time I lay there at night cursing fate for denying me this one emotion... you write off as a game?" she balled her hand up into a trembling fist at her side to keep from slapping the self-righteous ire from his face.  
  
He drew in a sharp breath to retort, but she wouldn't have it.  
  
"'I know you, Kathryn'," Janeway mocked, shooting his old words back at him. "My good friend Chakotay, all those years I thought you cared about me, you saw me as a manipulative bitch!"  
  
"Kathryn--"  
  
She staggered back a little, her rage suddenly fading in the face of an overwhelming hurt. "I loved you. I always did. A game... how can you think that? How can you think I'd do that to you?"  
  
"The night of the reunion, Kathryn!" Chakotay retorted. "You slept with me. No, you made love with me; everything was going to change between us. You said you loved me-- and don't deny it... I heard! You tried to pretend you were asleep, but I heard. And the next morning you announce you're getting married? What was that, Kathryn? What was that if not an active attempt to injure me?"  
  
She felt her eyes begin to sting and she fought it back. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. It was goodbye. Don't you see that, Chakotay? For you, for me-- one time. We could feel everything, all we'd missed, all we'd lost." Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "I thought it would make you happy."  
  
"Happy?" Chakotay sputtered. "Kathryn, you shattered me."  
  
Kathryn saw raw pain in his eyes, the trembling of his hands, and the words died on her lips. She found her eyes riveted to his pain-filled expression in morbid fascination.  
  
"I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't do anything but think about you... Have you ever had your heart broken? Had it ripped from your chest and tossed away like a piece of garbage?" he looked over at her, his eyes shining with his tears. "No, you haven't. And you can't imagine it. You can't know what it's like. It's horrible, Kathryn. It's like a living death."  
  
A living death.  
  
My God.  
  
"I tried to move on after that, God knows how I did, but everywhere I went I saw your face, I heard your voice. Women were nothing more than ghosts next to you. Before the reunion I finally had my life back together, but after you did that, after that night, it was over. It felt utterly meaningless. One place, another, they were all the same. They were all empty."  
  
Her anger was draining away, into another emotion much more devastating. His terrible words whirled through her mind; the night she'd seen as a lifeline, he saw as a curse. For so long, she'd seen it as the one taste of sweetness, the single expression of love for him before she entered her own living death. That night had been wonderful, pure. It was supposed to be a gift. Every terrible moment she'd drawn comfort from the memory, joy from the elusive moment. And the whole time, this act that gave her such pleasure, had given him this terrible anguish. Oh God, she hadn't meant to do that.  
  
"I loved you for so long, Kathryn," Chakotay said jaggedly. "I would have sold my soul for you. I could live before that night without thinking of you every day, every minute, and then... to come so close and then to lose it again..." His voice as bitter when he said, "I wish it had never happened. You-- one night, that night ruined me."  
  
Kathryn stared at Chakotay with horror, the anguish on his face, the defeat in his shoulders, and she was sick-- sick and ashamed. How could this have happened? How could she have misread his feelings so drastically? It wasn't supposed to be this way. She didn't mean to do this to him. She never wanted to hurt him. She hugged her arms around herself, fighting her terrible self-loathing.  
  
She thought of the days, then. All those times she'd comforted himself with the thought of him-- bent over with the nausea from Durant's poison, stretched out on the medical bed after Empek's beatings, smiling to faceless reporters, speaking lies, fleeing her friends, forgetting her family-- Chakotay. The thought of that night. And that night she'd given him this corrosive venom. She'd never seen him this way, looking this way, sounding this way.  
  
Her brief memories of pleasure shattered under the terrible new knowledge.  
  
She sank down mindlessly to the floor, kneeling, her truths exposed as lies, her love shown to be malice. She killed everyone she loved, destroyed everything she held close; and Chakotay, dear Chakotay, Gods what she'd done to him... She'd looked to the one light for so long and it was the light of his torment. And she loved him? And she did this because she loved him?  
  
You ruined me.  
  
It had happened again! She'd poisoned Durant for this, but the whole time, it was not Durant who suffered from her poison but Chakotay. She had done this to him. She put the pain in his eyes, she put the scar on his soul.  
  
She'd been a fool. A damn fool. Now where was she? Trapped in a shuttle? Trying to return to her own living death? She had to go back to Durant now, and she wouldn't have Chakotay to comfort her. He was gone. She'd destroyed it. She deserved Durant. What had she been thinking? How could she have been so blind?  
  
She'd lost. She'd tried so hard to prevent Durant from hurting Chakotay, and she ended up harming Chakotay in his stead. That was it. This was over. It was all over.  
  
Chakotay might have been speaking to her from a distance, and she felt a hand on her arm; she stumbled back from it, on her feet, against the wall. She wasn't entirely sure where she was, what she was doing. Who stood in front of her? or was she dreaming?  
  
Her mouth started moving without her volition. "I didn't mean it to happen that way. I didn't. I never meant to hurt you... You have to believe me, it was different, it was supposed to be--" Her voice broke off, and the blood drained from her face. "I just didn't want to kill them all, but I fucked that up, didn't I? Fucked it all up."  
  
Kathryn laughed a little wildly. "Fuck, in the quarters... that wasn't supposed to happen. Durant... maybe if I'd had time to prepare... But how do you prepare for that? I should have expected it, I know, I knew it was going to happen any day, and it would have been the last blow, but-I- just-couldn't..." her voice broke, and she felt him step towards her. She ripped away, back again.  
  
Kathryn felt the tears running down her face, and she ducked her head from his gaze. "You must think I'm terrible. And it's true! If they could see this now, Seska, Braxton, they'd be right. This is what they saw in me, wasn't it? But sometimes..."  
  
She turned back to him, a little confused. Was he still there? Had he left?  
  
"Sometimes... I think that if I can't escape--just for a while, just for a short time, if I can't get away for a short time I'll die, or I'll tear my hair from my head, scratch my skin into shreds-- and I do, sometimes... and the freedom, going out there, anywhere I want, it makes my head spin and I feel like I'm living... But that's when I realize I have nowhere to go. I can't go anywhere. I have no one left. He's done this to me and now he's all I have. He's my entire world. He made sure of it."  
  
She could see him, staring at her, shock and fear on his face, and it suddenly was absurdly funny. She laughed, an unpleasant, hysterical cackle.  
  
"You think I'm crazy, don't you? It's so easy for you to say, for all of you to say-- Old Janeway's finally lost it. Lost her goddamn mind. I guess it's been a long time coming. But you can't understand. How could you? They're watching me everywhere, hearing everything. Everything I think, everything I feel. Sometimes I think they have eyes in my brain--" she drew her hands up and raked her fingers across her scalp, agitated, "I think they're watching my thoughts... neural synapses, electrical impulses... Are they even safe?"  
  
Her frantic energy faded a bit, and she felt strangely exhausted and drained as she continued disjointedly, "All I can do when I escape is try to go where people are, strangers, faceless. Alcohol helps, but then they smell you and it gets bad. They seem to find me-- predators, I mean-- everywhere I go now... they can tell just looking at you. It's like they tag you and the others find you anywhere, sniff you out like a carcass. Sometimes I wish they'd kill me, and then it wouldn't be my fault. None of it would be my fault anymore. It would be out of my hands."  
  
Her body shook with a sudden, violent sob, and her hands locked over her face. The ground rushed at her suddenly, and then she was suspended midair. Through the cage of her fingers she could see whirling gray. Where had he gone? Maybe he was near her, or by the door, she couldn't tell now. She couldn't move. She felt something, a rope, a chain around her arms, around her neck, and she thought maybe Durant had found her and she thrashed against it madly. Or maybe Empek. Something soft. She clawed at it ferociously, sunk her teeth into it.  
  
"Tom!"  
  
Tom? Tom who? Tom Paris? Tom Thumb? She giggled at the thought, lurching away, and when she felt the cool metal pressing against her neck, her thoughts blurred and she played tag with her sister as a child. she'd (phoebe) cheated. "That's not fair..." katie whined and the world blackened and died.  
  
* * *  
  
"Chakotay?"  
  
The older man did not say anything. He had a fist pressed over his mouth; he was slumped on the floor, his back to the console, his eyes wide and haunted.  
  
"Chakotay?" Tom called again softly.  
  
Chakotay looked at him, utterly shocked and numbed. Paris reached out and gently took the older man's hand, turning it over to heal the tooth marks and the scratches. B'Elanna hovered at the doorway, as baffled as Paris was. She knelt down by Janeway's limp form, checking briefly to make sure she was all right.  
  
"What was that?" B'Elanna asked softly.  
  
Chakotay was staring at Janeway, looking almost shell-shocked. Blinking.  
  
Tom caught B'Elanna's eyes and shook his head briefly. She nodded. He shook his head again, looking meaningfully towards Chakotay. She disregarded his advice and whipped her sharp, brown eyes towards the cockpit. Paris shook his head again, and she socked him on the arm, hard. The blonde pilot shot up and raised his hands in surrender. He reached down, scooped up Janeway, and closed the door behind him.  
  
B'Elanna lowered herself onto the floor across from Chakotay while he sat there, silent and expressionless. She watched him carefully, waiting. After an interminable period of time, his expression crumpled, his eyes squeezed shut, and B'Elanna reached forward to take him into her arms as his shoulders shook with silent tears.  
  
She knew later he'd be embarrassed. In other circumstances, he would swallow it like he always did. But so much was happening for him. She'd seen it in his eyes.  
  
"B'Elanna," he whispered raggedly.  
  
"It's okay, Chakotay," she whispered into his hair, stroking his back.  
  
"I've never seen her like that. I never wanted to see her like that."  
  
"It'll be fine, Chakotay."  
  
"She was insane, B'Elanna. And what she said-- what if she's that way when she wakes, if she's snapped?"  
  
"Shh."  
  
Torres held him stroking his back. He stiffened. "Where is she?"  
  
"Tom has her, in the cockpit."  
  
Chakotay pulled back, began to rise. Torres followed him into the cockpit.  
  
She found her husband crouched by one the chairs, reclined down, Janeway lying there sedated. Chakotay's expression was stormy, but it seemed to ease a little when Tom shot him a smile.  
  
"Look, Chakotay," Paris said, rising to his feet, snapping the tricorder shut. "It looks like she hasn't had a good night's sleep in months, she's severely malnourished, she's stressed as hell, and God knows what she'd hiding from us. I'm guessing you two had a tense moment. So she flipped out on you. It happens to all of us from time to time, maybe not as severe, but hey, with all the crap she's probably going through-- She's not insane, it's nothing permanent, so relax, big guy."  
  
Torres watched Chakotay's shoulders slowly begin to sag in relief.  
  
"There are things... things she said," Chakotay said softly. He stared blankly, seemingly caught in some private thought. Then, looking up at Tom, "Is there.. anything you can give her? Something for anxiety, or what not?"  
  
"I'm not a psychiatrist. I'm guessing all she needs is a good night's sleep," Tom said, then his eyes slipped over to Chakotay. "And so do you. No offense, but you look like shit."  
  
Chakotay shot him a severe look, then turned brusquely towards the back room. "Tell me the minute she wakes up."  
  
"Sure, sure," Paris said quickly.  
  
Torres watched Chakotay leave, then glanced wryly at her husband. "'No offense, but you look like shit'? So tactful, helmboy."  
  
Paris gave her a helpless shrug. 


	12. Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN  
  
  
  
Chakotay was already holding out a steaming mug of coffee when she finally stirred. Kathryn stared at him blankly a moment, confusion clouding her face, and as he studied her intently with concerned black eyes, he felt a prick of fear at the bewilderment in her expression. If she's still not lucid... He felt relieved, and then sympathetic when embarrassment suddenly flooded her features. Chakotay wordlessly pressed the coffee against her flaccid hand, and she took it automatically as she pulled herself stiffly up.  
  
"Thanks," Kathryn murmured, her voice hoarse, her eyes fallen to the ground. She raised it to her lips for a generous sip, and color slowly returned to her cheeks. Chakotay watched in silence until she looked ready to talk.  
  
When she began to mutter an apology for her behavior, Chakotay waved her off. "It doesn't matter, Kathryn. I understand." He let the silence hang between them, somehow already aware that she'd break the silence he'd just begun to crack. He didn't have to wait long.  
  
Janeway still stared bleakly into the mug when she drew in a breath to speak. "Durant helped us. All of us, when we first reached Earth. He secured the freedom of the Maquis, almost single-handedly. And my freedom. He persuaded the Committee of Ethics to rule in my favor, and he averted the court martial... I owed him a great deal."  
  
Chakotay was silent a moment after her words, before prompting gently, "Is that why you married him?"  
  
"No." She shook her head for emphasis, and Chakotay settled back on the bunk across from hers as she continued, "We were just friends, well, little more than acquaintances. I honestly didn't see it coming. I knew he had these... ridiculous political views-- comical, really-- but I had no idea just how far he wanted to take them. I wouldn't have-- well, that doesn't matter now.  
  
"At some point, I suspected he had some sort of romantic interest, and he confirmed it eventually... but that was the other lie." Her expression was dark. "They were all lies. When he realized he couldn't manipulate me, he partnered with the Orion Syndicate to force me. They killed my family, they threatened to kill the rest of you. And he could do it. Jenny, Tal, Mortimer..."  
  
"But Kathryn, that was a virus--" Chakotay began patiently.  
  
"No!" Janeway's eyes blazed into his, slanted and enraged. "No. There was no virus." Her voice was bitter and caustic. "It was just a convenient device. A good one, at that. Don't you realize that 'latent retro-virus' could easily spring back to life and migrate to the rest of the crew, should it meet my beloved husband's whim? That's why they used it. It was the perfect cover."  
  
"What does he want from you?" Chakotay's mind whirled with her terrible words.  
  
She shrugged, her expression suddenly bleak and unfeeling, seemingly emotionally shredded to the point that the turmoil barely touched her. "It's just name recognition. Politics is about name recognition. He made me into something greater than I was-- the Medal of Honor, the promotion, the publicity..." At the surprise and Chakotay's face, a mirthless smile twisted across her lips. "You truly believed they'd hand me those honors after the Equinox? After the Temporal Prime Directive? And even if they did.... You actually believed I was such a publicity hound at heart?"  
  
"I didn't know what to believe," he confessed, holding her eyes with his dark ones. "Kathryn... I just didn't understand any of it. We returned, and I had so much to work out in my own life. And then after the reunion.."  
  
Janeway spoke on dully, "He arranged it all, and he rode on my reputation into the spotlight. Now he's running for president, and it looks like he'll win." She glanced towards the viewing screen with a jaundiced eye. "God help us all."  
  
"And what did he want you to do?" Chakotay asked softly. The question seemed to surprise her, and her air of indifference suddenly faltered.  
  
"I-- just have to play a role. Be a wife. Smile for a holocamera. Some days I'm better than others."  
  
"Does he hurt you?"  
  
"Only when I bring it on myself." Kathryn must have seen the appalled look on his face, for she quickly added, "I know I don't deserve it of course-- I haven't bought into that mentality, if that's what you're assuming, Commander. I simply mean I know how to avoid it, but I have my slip ups."  
  
"How do you slip up?"  
  
"If I leave when I'm not supposed to, when I speak outside the directed parameters, if I talk to Admiral Paris or basically anyone I care about-- ever."  
  
"Am I one of those people?" Chakotay asked, suddenly understand her behavior. Maybe she'd been forbidden to see him...  
  
"No."  
  
Chakotay felt hurt by this statement, and almost laughed at how ridiculous the feeling was. Of course it should be a good thing that he wasn't suspected... But if no one saw anything truly there between he and Kathryn... She hadn't been forbidden from his company, yet she still avoided him all those months...  
  
She must have read the look in his eyes, because her hand darted out and clasped his dark one, and she held his gaze intently with her own. "Chakotay, I took every step to make sure you weren't one of those people. Don't you realize that's why I avoided you? If Durant knew about you and I..." she hesitated. "If he knew about what we had for that night, or what we'd felt, you would have lived under the same sword I did, if he hadn't murdered you outright."  
  
"I understand, Kathryn. I do." And he tried to make himself understand. "I just wish you could have trusted me to watch my own back. I wasn't a Maquis fugitive for nothing."  
  
She smiled fondly, her eyes sad. "No, I guess you weren't." Kathryn's gaze slipped around the shuttle. "Who else could pull a stunt like this?" She was silent a moment, then suddenly her face was grave. "You're insane to go through with this, you know."  
  
"I know." He paused. "That's what friends are for." His smile crinkled the sides of his eyes.  
  
Something changed in her expression suddenly, in her eyes. A new softness stole about them, a warmth that made the back of Chakotay's neck prickle.  
  
"You've been a good friend to me, Chakotay," Kathryn breathed softly. "Not many people would have been there for me after my behavior."  
  
"I understand why you acted--"  
  
"No," she cut in, her finger suddenly pressed to his lips as her appreciative eyes bore into his. "No, don't say anything to change it. You were a good friend to me, and I want to-- I have yet to return the favor. I haven't let you know how much it means to me."  
  
Her eyes were intent upon him, and he felt the electricity in her gaze as she drew imperceptibly closer. Chakotay was caught in the turmoil of emotions-- disbelief... was she going to kiss him? And suddenly fear.  
  
He jerked back away from her, wincing at the blatant action on his own part, and he thought for a second he saw hurt flicker in her eyes before she offered him an uneasy smile and looked away.  
  
"Well, I guess we understand each other now," she said in a low voice, still not looking at him.  
  
Chakotay couldn't say anything immediately. The situation was too confused, too muddled.  
  
"I--" he fumbled. "No, not quite. You haven't explained everything." She looked up questioningly. "You haven't told me what happened the other day, with Durant. How you ended up on my doorstep."  
  
He immediately saw her withdraw, her face shuttering, her form tensing. He reached out and clamped his hands over her thin shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin harder than he had intended, as though he hoped the pain would hold her back from her retreat.  
  
"Don't shut down on me now!"  
  
Her cheeks had paled, and he could see that she was embarrassed, morbidly embarrassed. He shook her lightly. "Kathryn?"  
  
Kathryn's hands flew to his, urging his hands from her shoulders. "Chakotay-- you're hurting me--"  
  
He released her abruptly, and she recoiled from him. Chakotay leaned closer, inching towards her retreating form, pausing only when she held up a spindly hand to mollify him.  
  
"I'll tell you," she said. "It's just--"  
  
"Just what?"  
  
Kathryn didn't elaborate on that line of thought. She jerked to her feet and prowled to the other side of the shuttle, her entire body emanating something along the lines of rage and distress.  
  
She finally whirled and shot it all out. "He wants to have a baby."  
  
"A baby?" Chakotay echoed. "With you?" Stupid question, he berated himself. "Of course with you."  
  
She shot him a dubious look before continuing, "He's made appointments at fertility clinics, and I've always dodged them. He grew sick of waiting, so he decided to do the work himself." She stared darkly at the ground. "I don't remember much of what happened. He drugged me at the reception, I attacked him, I found you. The details... they just aren't there."  
  
The implications of her words staggered him. He rubbed his fingers over his mouth, thinking back to that reception with a rather ill pit in his stomach-- he'd seen her exhaustion. He simply hadn't thought anything of it...  
  
"My God..." He thought of Durant then, swaggering about the reception like he owned the universe-- a man with a plan. A bastard who had to trample a woman to conquer his world. That whole reception, greeting dignitaries, smiling, he'd just been waiting...  
  
Chakotay was suddenly pissed, brimming with anger at Durant, and at her.  
  
"And you wanted me to send you back to that man?" Chakotay flared up. "Good God, Kathryn, the bastard tries to rape you and you're simply going to march back into his custody?"  
  
"He's done worse," she muttered.  
  
"And what the hell difference does that make?" he smoldered. "You should have come to me the minute he hurt-- no, you should have come to me the second he even threatened you."  
  
"Chakotay, you know why I--"  
  
"Because you wanted to protect me," he sneered as he said the words. "Well, Goddamn it, Kathryn, did it ever occur to you to give me the choice whether I wanted to be protected? You were my commanding officer, my best friend-- If I'd been in a life threatening situation, wouldn't you have wanted to know?" She looked down away from his hard gaze, and he threw his hands into the air in exasperation. "And you've been trying to manipulate me into returning you for the last two days without even telling me the situation--"  
  
"Well now you know the situation!" Janeway erupted, her patience frayed. "Now you know. So cut the fucking diatribe and take me back!"  
  
Chakotay laughed suddenly, disbelieving. "It's just like you to pound the same note even after you know I'm not going to follow it! There isn't a chance in hell I'm returning you after this."  
  
"Chakotay," her voice was shaking now, clearly on the verge of hysteria. "You know what will happen, you know what he'll do to you, to all of us. How can you possibly-- now that you know... He'll think I ran away. He'll kill them because he'll think I ran away."  
  
"No, he won't."  
  
That stopped her suddenly.  
  
An unsettling smile twisted across his lips, and he reached back to brutally jab his finger at the controls of the viewer. The screen lit up, and she watched his fingers dance across the controls, frequency after frequency slipping across the screen.  
  
"What station do you want, Kathryn?" he demanded harshly. "It's on every single one of them."  
  
"What's on? What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
Chakotay settled on one, and he saw the horror on her face when she saw an image of herself looking back as the news reporter related the horrifying saga of the kidnapped Admiral Janeway.  
  
As she watched, her face went deathly pale, and her hand rose slowly to cover her own mouth. She slumped back against the wall, staring in disbelief at the channel.  
  
"How can they--" her voice was ragged and died quickly. He watched her, feeling dark turmoil rage within him. She managed, "How can they say that? You would never kidnap me."  
  
"Kathryn," Chakotay said with a cynical smile. "I did kidnap you."  
  
"That's not what I mean," Her voice was shaking with anger. "How can they say that you--" She stopped, her eyes suddenly intent with a train of thought.  
  
  
  
"The Syndicate thugs clearly believed I kidnapped you-- the impromptu cavity exam, remember?" Kathryn's face flushed, and though they had not spoken a word of it, he knew it was humiliating for her to think about. "The news stations are claiming I kidnapped you. Not one word on the air about tragic deaths of any of the celebrity survivors of Voyager-- so clearly there have been no reprisals for your actions." He watched the dawning understanding over her face. "You know why, Kathryn? Because as far as they are concerned-- as far as Durant and Empek know-- I kidnapped you. Which means--"  
  
"--which means, as long as they don't catch us," Janeway cut in suddenly, her eyes glinting with a new light, her expression both delighted and malicious. "Everyone is safe."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"And we have time to form a plan."  
  
"Right again."  
  
Janeway flashed him a grin, suddenly alive with an energy he remembered from days long passed. "And all it cost was your reputation," she added, on a note both playful and aggressive.  
  
The sting of the barb was only mild, because Chakotay suddenly felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his chest. The pressing fear about his new fugitive status, looming in the back of his mind from the moment Torres shook him awake with the alarming news, mounting as he waited for Kathryn to regain consciousness, all but disappeared.  
  
As her eyes glinted dangerously into his own, he felt the old electricity in the air. Janeway and Chakotay, locked in the same line of thought, engaged in the same dilemma, working together again with the same energy and resourcefulness that had forged their way through the Delta Quadrant. They'd defeated the Hirogen, outsmarted the Devore, overcome the peril of the Borg. And after a long absence, the formidable duo was back in business.  
  
Jonathan Durant had no chance.  
  
"My reputation for all of our lives," Chakotay said wryly. "I think I can handle that."  
  
Janeway reached out and clasped his hand firmly in her own, gratitude and determination written on her face.  
  
But strongest of all-- hatred. 


	13. Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

            "Might as well have summoned the whole crew," Janeway muttered, her arms crossed stiffly over her chest as she watched Seven and the Doctor approach from the distance.

            Chakotay said nothing in reply, clearly puzzled at Kathryn's strange resistance to requesting Seven of Nine and the Doctor's help.

            Admiral Janeway's 'kidnapping' had stretched out nearly six days now, and Tom Paris's beleagured vessel had just taken refuge in the nook of an abandoned Federation base.  The four comrades had been waiting for the other two former members of Voyager's crew to arrive, passing the time by attempting to formulate some sort of plan.  Each idea led to a dead end.  Every off-handed suggestion was batted down as quickly as it was proposed.  Frustration was slowly mounting.

            They knew John Durant had two main strengths: the general public revered him, and the Orion Syndicate supported him.  They could do nothing directly against Durant-- nothing to attack his public image, nothing to attack the man himself-- without bringing the ire of the Syndicate upon them.  They had to be subtle; their hand would have to be invisible in whatever the outcome of this deadly game.  Their most important move would be severing Durant's ties with the Syndicate.  Without the Syndicate, Durant was simply another man.  The question was, how would they go about breaking those bonds?  

            If they attacked Durant's public image, made Durant too costly and dire a connection for the Syndicate to maintain, the crime organization could still turn around and destroy Janeway and the crew in retaliation for spoiling their investment.  The only acceptable course of action was to poison Durant in the eyes of the Syndicate, destroy his credibility and undermine his friendship, without showing any sign they'd been the ones to do it. 

            "Turncoats," Paris suggested during one discussion.  "If I learned one thing in prison, it was that all criminals hate turncoats.  Snitches."

            "Durant's not a turncoat," Chakotay pointed out.

            "But we can make it look like he is," Paris replied, his blue eyes intent as he gestured with a careless hand wave.  "We can plant something, or inform a friend of a friend of a friend that Durant's got something going down that the boys at the Syndicate won't like."

            At the looks of confusion that met his words, Paris's jaw hardened with suddenly frustration.  "*_Listen*_-- the guy has to have something in his past, something about him his partners won't like, some dirt--"

            "His computer," Janeway interjected suddenly, her eyes locking with Paris's as she latched upon the helmsman's line of thought.  "He keeps files on his computer, detailed files.  I don't think Empek knows about them-- I know he tracks me on them, but I'm sure he also has information about Empek, and probably whatever Syndicate agents he's met over the years.  They wouldn't be happy if they knew he's been keeping those records."

            Paris smiled slightly.  "And they might draw the wrong conclusions from it."

            Chakotay's brow furrowed into a series of faint lines.  "So... we could use these to convince Empek that Durant is... what?"

            "A good Starfleet Officer," Janeway replied with a faint grin, though her eyes were flinty as steel.  "We could use those files to convince Empek that Durant is a double agent.  He'll believe that Durant sought out the help of the Syndicate merely so he could spy on them for Starfleet.  If Empek happened to stumble upon Durant's spying files in the wrong place... say, in the central computer at Starfleet Command..."

            Torres puzzled it out.  "You're saying that if someone from the Syndicate finds information only Durant could have in the wrong person's hands, they'll think Durant's working against them?" The half-Klingon scowled.  "They'd see right through that.  I know I would."

            "If we could just retrieve the contents of that database," Janeway said, ignoring the younger woman's skepticism,  "And if we could implant it with someone involved in intelligence--"

            "My father," Paris offered.  "I could tell him what's going on, he can pretend he's working with Durant on this."

            "And the Syndicate surely has connections with top Starfleet brass," Janeway continued.  "If you can talk to your father, Tom, explain the situation...  We can take Durant's data on Empek, stick it in Admiral Paris's database, and hope to hell that someone dirty stumbles upon it.  The only conclusion they can make is that Durant provided this information for Paris, that Durant is working with Paris in some plot to take down the Orion Syndicate from the inside.  They'll think Durant was manipulating them."

            "So they kill Durant," Torres finished for her.  "That's great.  But won't they kill your father, Tom?"

            Tom Paris shook his head at her worries.  "The Orion Syndicate isn't just a loose group of criminals.  They're an organization.  They've got codes-- hold to your deal, keep your word, kill your witnesses.  They don't kill a guy just doing his job unless he's the one actively deceiving them.  My father wouldn't be in harm's way-- they would see him as a guy just doing his duty as an officer.  But Durant would be the one who went out and fucked with them, Durant was the one who played them for fools, and they sure as hell wouldn't hesitate to kill him."  Tom took a breath, and his pale blue eyes shifted over to Janeway.  "And they'd kill you, too."

            "I'm a witness," Janeway agreed softly, understanding.  "I know as much about the Syndicate activities as Durant does.  They'd perceive me as Durant's accomplice."

            "Probably."

            Janeway's lips twisted into a frown, and she stared down with a hard gaze at the floor of the shuttle, her elbows resting upon her knees, brooding over the grim possibilties for the future.  Even if she escaped Durant, the Syndicate would pursue her until the day she died...

            "We have to do better than that," Chakotay stated flatly.

            Janeway glanced up at him and held his soulful eyes briefly, warmed by his concern.  "I wish it could be another way," she said.  "But if death is the risk I'll have to take to end this nonsense, it's acceptable."

            It was acceptable.  The crew would be safe.  And Chakotay.

            No, not Chakotay.

            "What the hell are we going to do about you, Chakotay?" Janeway suddenly asked, glancing up at the surprised faces of the other three, including the man in question's.  The four officers had been so caught up in the main dilemma, they hadn't even considered the future of the man who was now known across the quadrant as a kidnapper and possible murderer.

            "I suppose I'll be a fugitive."  Chakotay shrugged his large shoulders, offering Kathryn a half-hearted smile that made her suddenly feel terribly guilty.  "I can live with that.  It won't be the first time."

            She wished she hadn't dragged him into this.

            "I'm so sorry--" Kathryn began quietly.

            "It's fine," Chakotay replied, putting his hand gently over hers to relieve her of the stricken look on her face.  "Don't blame yourself for this."

            Kathryn knew it would be no good protesting.  He knew her too well.  She despised herself for putting him in this situation.

            So the crew would be safe, Durant would be dead, and she'd have to run.  She'd have to look over her shoulder every day for the rest of her life in hopes the Syndicate wouldn't find her.  She could live with that.  But she hated that Chakotay would have that same fear, that he'd have to watch out for the authorities anywhere he went .

            Maybe she could go public.  Perhaps she could say something to clear his name, either before the Syndicate assassinated her, or before she dissapeared into the woodwork.  She owed him that much.

            But then again, worst case scenario, they could become fugitives together.  As selfish as it was, that was not an entirely unappealing prospect to her.  At least she'd be with Chakotay...

            Janeway glanced over at him, thinking back to that moment just two days earlier when she'd spoken to him of her debt to him, when she'd expressed her gratitude.  Caught in the moment, she'd almost leaned over and kissed him.  For a moment, just for a moment, she could have sworn she saw something in his eyes...  And then he recoiled from her, as though repulsed.  Or maybe she misinterperted the moment.  Or maybe he despised her.  He had reason to.

            It all confused her.

            She knew she still loved him.  She had no clue how he felt about her.  Could he possibly stand to embark on that path again, the one that had led him to so much pain and heartbreak in the past?  Would he ever give her a chance again?  If their positions were reversed, Kathryn didn't know if she could bear it.

            Maybe she should back off.  Or maybe she should be more direct.

            Her train of though was broken off quite unpleasantly when she heard Chakotay suggest they contact Seven and the Doctor.

            *_Seven?*_  What could he want from her?

            "Seven could probably hack into Durant's computer without being traced and retrieve the data.  She might be the only one who can do it," Chakotay was saying.

            "B'Elanna, *_you* _couldn't navigate your way through the system?" Janeway tried to ignore the note of pleading in her voice.  She tried to reason that she didn't want to involve more crewmembers than were necessary in this, that she had no irrational fear Chakotay would take one look at Seven and suddenly rediscover his old affection for her and all Janeway's progress with him would be lost.

            "Give me a comptuer to repair and I can do it," Torres replied tartly.  "A computer to hack?  It's just not my area.  With all those Borg encryption techniques, Seven could break in there faster than anyone in the quadrant."

            So Seven of Nine it was.

            And now two days later the ex-drone took the final few steps to halt before them all-- tall, regal, controlled, her presence drawing eyes from the significantly less magnetic holographic doctor by her side.

            "You've been briefed on the situation?" Janeway asked crisply, holding the other woman's pale blue eyes without a flicker of emotion on her face.

            The younger woman hesitated a moment, perhaps surprised that Janeway had jumped to the chase rather than greeting her.  An unreadable emotion flickered across her features.  "Yes, Admiral, I have," she replied in a voice softer than Janeway remembered.

            Her fine blonde hair was draped about her shoulders, the civilian garb hanging with some slack about her lanky form.  Janeway felt a mixture of emotions at seeing her old protege-- love, apprehension, anger.  Truly, she and Seven had always had a love-hate relationship, hate taking predominance towards the end when they returned to Earth and wanted nothing more to do with one another.  Seven, more than anything, embodied the best and the worst Janeway had taken from her time in the Delta Quadrant.  Seven had grown under Janeway's care from a drone to a human woman with emotions and needs.  She had drained and hardened Janeway like no one before her.  She inspired the best and the worst emotions in Kathryn.

            Janeway felt herself soften suddenly, as she watched the uncertainty play across the former Borg's features, and her initial surge of enmity died away as her familiar affection for her wayward protege reasserted itself.  She held Seven's eyes a long moment, sensing rather than seeing the younger woman respond to her warmth.  She fought the warning of tears.

            "It's good to see you again, Seven."  Her voice sounded strange and hollow.

            Janeway was surprised when Seven was the first to step forward, and she met the younger woman's embrace with a distinct feeling of discomfort.  What did Seven see when she looked at her?  How had this woman changed?  There was a time that Janeway knew Seven better than she believed Seven knew herself.  But this human woman was a stranger to her, this human who had commenced her secret liason with Chakotay, outside of Janeway's knowledge.

            That secrecy had not been the fondest introduction to this aspect of Seven's personality, but first impressions were often mistaken.

            Or so she hoped.

*          *          *

Chakotay found himself alone again with Janeway in the aft compartment of the shuttle as Tom Paris's ship zipped back towards Earth. She was hunched over a plate, picking half-heartedly at her food. He marveled again at how drastically altered she looked; he'd nearly forgotten about her extreme thinness before the Doctor revived the concern with a whispered inquiry about Janeway's health. The hologram wanted to examine her right then and there. Chakotay talked him out of it, knowing it would not go down well with Kathryn. The last thing they needed, at this moment, with the future so perilously balanced upon her performance in coming days, was an argument to further chisel at the woman's precarious control. 

Besides that, Chakotay knew it was not her physical health that required the most urgent attention. His concern centered around her mental state. The most immediately apparent impact of Durant's mind games was her weight loss. She was not emaciated because Durant had actively starved her, although she confessed to his repeated harping over her appearance. She was gaunt because some whisper in her mind had compelled her to do this to herself-- to starve, to wreck her own health. And while it was true that Durant had encouraged this-- he had clearly been attempting to use this issue as another avenue to psychologically undermine her-- the fact that this attempt had so clearly taken root within her worried him. This was the only line of attack that Chakotay could see physically manifested; God only knew what else that bastard had done, the damage hidden from Chakotay's eyes. 

            "Seven looked well," Janeway spoke up abruptly, not looking at him. 

            "She did," he agreed without emotion, wondering if he should inform her Seven went by Annika now, tell her about Annika's engagement. 

            Maybe too much news for Kathryn right now. 

            Janeway's piercing blue eyes raked over him. He was uncertain what she was probing for. She threw him off balance a good deal, especially in the quiet moments. When she was angry, he could deal with her. But deadly calm... That unsettled him. He knew the others felt the same way-- B'Elanna, Tom, Seven, the Doctor. Maybe that was why he kept finding himself alone with Kathryn. The others didn't know what was going on in her head any more than he did. 

            Tuvok. He cursed himself. He should have contacted Tuvok. Her old Vulcan friend would know, maybe better than Chakotay, what she was thinking. Tuvok could deal with her. 

            Too late now. 

            "Have you two spoken alone, yet?" Her voice sounded strange. 

            He looked at her curiously. "No, we haven't had the chance." 

            "Oh." 

            There was a long moment of silence as she gazed down at her tray. 

            Then, "Chakotay." 

            "Kathryn?" 

            "I never got a chance to--" Kathryn looked uncomfortable suddenly, and then smiled wryly as though trying to ease her own tension. "Well, now might not be the right time... But if we die in a few days, it will probably never be the right time anyway..." She stopped then, and her eyes latched onto his unblinkingly. "I never got a chance to apologize... Not coherently, at least," Again she looked embarrassed. "Our discussion a few days ago... Just-- at the reunion. I'm sorry I didn't take your feelings into consideration before I-- before what happened at the reunion. I should have considered it from your perspective, thought of the consequences to you. I was selfish." 

            "You don't have to apologize. It's long done now," Chakotay replied gently. He shrugged and lowered himself into the seat next to her. "It hurt, for a long time it hurt... But maybe that old phrase, 'It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all...'" He let the words hang in the air, and when he turned his head towards her, the intensity of her expression startled him. 

            Her voice was quiet. 

            "Chakotay," Chakotay fought his surprise as she reached out and gently caressed his hand with her fingers. "You never lost." 

            Chakotay felt his heart still, the blood rushing to his head in a sudden, dizzying moment. 

            It was then he knew. 

            For maybe the first time in ages, with this absolute certainty, free of doubt, he knew. She loved him. Kathryn loved him the same way he loved her. He held her gaze, her blue eyes warm with her feelings, the nagging insecurity of the last few months dying at last. 

            He stared at her, her eyes soft, her hair picking up red in the shuttle light, and knew he could press his lips to hers and she would kiss him back. He could press her to the floor and make love to her in this shuttle and she'd urge him into her. Everything he'd thought she was holding back was there before him, his. 

            The possibilities were beautiful. 

            But he hesitated, and for a long moment he wondered what held him back. 

            It wasn't a lack of feeling. He wanted her-- Gods how he wanted her. 

            Maybe if he felt anything less... But he didn't just want Kathryn-- he wanted to love her, for now, forever. 

            Here she was, after two years of nothing short of psychological torture, throwing what little remained of Kathryn Janeway into his mercy. If he accepted what was left, joined it with him now, he'd ruin her. Whatever capacity she'd retained for holding true to her own soul would be lost. There was a terrible imbalance between them-- Kathryn was a fragment of herself, and he was following his own heart. She was still lost, still confused. Even if she knew her own emotions she still had so many wounds to recover from, so much shredded left to heal. If he acted upon this now, she would never have a chance to grow back into her own person. She would only heal those fracture through him... She wouldn't regain herself on her own. 

            He had nearly made that mistake with Seven of Nine, allowed an emotionally vulnerable creature to use him as the salve for the wounds she felt she could not heal herself. He let her grow into a full human around him, and when he stepped aside, he nearly destroyed that woman. He couldn't risk that with Kathryn. He couldn't do that to her. He wouldn't. 

            Chakotay smiled, fighting to maintain a show of tender indifference as much as it hurt him, and slowly rose to his feet. He wanted this to be as easy on her as possible. 

            "I–Kathryn, I just don't feel this is the right time." 

            The warmth instantly fled Janeway's face, her eyes, and he winced at the hurt he saw flood her expression. But this was for her. She would understand someday, once she was whole again, why he had to do this. She had to understand. 

            "I think I'd better check in with the others." His voice was soft. A beat passed. "I'm glad we talked." 

            He saw her swallow with a visible effort, and he looked away to give her some privacy to compose herself. When he turned back again, the steely Captain's Mask was firmly in place. Kathryn nodded blandly, her features pale but steady. 

            "Yes, me too." Janeway's voice was strong, although strangely hollow. "I'll just finish up in here." 

            The air was still tense, and he fumbled for the words, "Do you want me to get you anything else from the replicator before I go up front?" 

            She shook her head. Quietly, "No. This is enough. Thank you." 

            He pressed his lips together, but managed a smile. "Well, I hope you join us soon. I know everyone's eager to catch up." 

            "Of course. I'll be just a minute." 

            He was certain this was a lie. 

* * *

            He didn't make it to the cockpit before he ran into Seven, poised mid-step right outside the cockpit door. 

            Chakotay stopped short, feeling awkward as he found himself alone with her for the first time since their break up. The rather nasty break up. There was a strange, nervous twitch to her smile, and her eyes looked pale and hesitant. 

            "Sev--Annika," Chakotay amended his mistake quickly, with a friendly smile. "Did you want to go back...?" The question hung unsaid as he stepped aside in case she was seeking out Janeway, jabbing a large thumb towards the corridor stretching behind him. 

            "No. I-- no," Seven shot an uneasy glance towards the bend in the corridor behind him. "I actually was hoping to speak with you for a minute." 

            Chakotay felt himself tense, immediately on guard. "Oh? What is it?" 

            Seven took a breath, and he recognized that she was attempting to steady herself. 

            "I wanted to... apologize for my conduct when you terminated our relationship." The words seemed to be hard for her. "I was out of line, and I am distressed that I may have caused you undue pain. 

            Chakotay blinked, surprised. "Annika, that was ages ago. I understand perfectly--" 

            "No," she cut in. The tall blonde took a step closer, and her eyes were sincere. "I did not inform you of my whereabouts, but I should have. I'm 'sorry.'" 

            Still a little baffled, Chakotay gave her an easy smile. "Annika, I truly do understand. I don't want you to feel ashamed of it." 

            She nodded slowly, and he started to move past her when a metal enmeshed hand suddenly landed on his chest, stopping him mid-step. 

            " And..." she looked a little fearful, "I was hoping that, despite my past conduct, you might consider attending my wedding to the Doctor." 

            Chakotay grinned, holding her eyes with his own, feeling at ease for the first time in this conversation. "Annika, you know I wouldn't miss it." 

            "I understand it is customary for the bride to dispatch documents of invitation," Annika continued quickly, "But I was afraid that--" 

            "Annika," Chakotay said sincerely, "I only want you to be happy. I'm honored you've invited me." 

            A moment passed as they gazed at each other, and he swore he could see tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Chakotay. You are a true friend," Seven of Nine said softly. 

            Moved by her tears, he stepped forward to envelop her in a warm hug. 

            Chakotay held his former lover, reflecting that at least someone would find a happy ending in all this mess. Seven and the Doctor. Who would have seen it? He pressed a kiss softly on top of her head, thinking that maybe, just maybe, if Seven could overcome the trauma of the Borg, he might have a chance one day of looking a happy, complete Kathryn Janeway in the eye again. Once they got out of this mess. And they would. 

            They always did, didn't they? 

            "There is also a matter I wish to discuss with you, pertaining to Admiral Janeway," her voice was muffled against her chest. "The wedding--" 

            Chakotay smiled. He knew she was going to ask if it was appropriate to approach Janeway with an invite. He'd noticed things were still prickly between the two. 

            "Don't worry." He stroked her back unconsciously. "I'll settle the matter with Kathryn." 

            Chakotay didn't notice Janeway quietly withdraw back into the aft compartment. 

* * *

            As the door slid shut behind her, Janeway stood perfectly still for a moment before a bitter, mirthless smile tugged at her hard lips. Of course. She should have known. 

            What had she expected? That he'd wait forever? That he'd simply reel from pain and never turn his eyes to another woman? 

            He'd found Seven again. They'd rediscovered their affection. Had it been just now, or much earlier? This whole time he'd been protecting her, had he warmed himself with the thought of Seven of Nine's open arms waiting for him later? How embarrassed he must have been when she made that pass at him a few minutes ago. How uneasy he had looked. Now she knew why. He'd been too kind to tell her, but at least now she knew why. 

            Oh, God, she wished she hadn't seen that. 

            She'd walked in just in time to see it. _I'll settle the matter with Kathryn._ She felt like an idiot. He'd told Seven about what happened. That almost killed her as much as the sight of the two in an embrace had. They had to be laughing about her. 

_            No,_ she thought, her eyes beginning to sting with tears, _They're too good for that._ It was much worse. They were pitying her. 

            She closed her eyes harshly, gripping her hands into fists, trying to fight her impulses of jealousy and despair. 

            He would at least be happy with Seven. She had never made him happy, probably could never make him happy. She'd only given him pain. 

            But Goddamn it, she didn't want him happy! Not without her. The cold, petty reality of her own feelings flooded her with shame and self-loathing. 

            She knew she was being horrible. Some lucid part of her brain wondered if Admiral Janeway, the original one, had battled with these very same thoughts before making her fateful trip back through time. She had sacrificed her life for these two. Kathryn didn't want to do the same, to embrace the same fate as that lonely, old Admiral. 

            But in this situation, maybe she would have to. 

            Even amidst her feelings of betrayal, she knew her jealousy would not win out; she would save Chakotay. She would send him into Seven's arms, at the sacrifice of her own life. Maybe they could have fled together, before, when he loved her. But she could never tear him from the woman he loved. As much as she wanted him with her, she could never bear to do that to him. 

            She would take her exile alone. 


	14. Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The sight of Earth out the window sent a cold shudder through Janeway as she faced the reality of what she was returning to. Durant was waiting somewhere out there, wondering what had happened to her, probably still enraged from her attack on him. Empek was there, the man who would kill her if she failed to handle this the right way. 

Seven's voice frequently overlapped B'Elanna's somewhere behind her as the former drone hacked into Durant's private database. Kathryn had every confidence in her abilities– she had no doubt Seven would succeed. But standing near that woman right now brought her too much pain, and the old, irrational sense of betrayal. She would focus on Durant, and try not to let her thoughts stray to Seven and Chakotay. Just the thought made her feel ill. 

"Nervous?" 

            Paris's easy voice behind her brought her back from her reverie. 

            "No," Janeway replied automatically, and then, upon some reflection, realized she was speaking the truth. Despite some lingering unease, mostly her being was filled with a dead calm. This was going to be resolved, at last. Either way, for better or for worse, no more of this hanging between two existences. 

            "I think they're almost done back there," Paris told her. "B'Elanna installed a tracking bug in the file, so the second one of Empek's buddies locates those files in the database, we'll know it." 

            "Good." She took a few steadying breaths. Her blue eyes darted briefly up to the chronometer, her jaw square and stiff, resolve minted upon her features. "I'm almost ready to go." 

            Paris still looked uneasy. "Maybe we should give Empek some time to receive word," he suggested. "No need for you to go back so soon." 

            "It would look too suspicious if I returned to Durant at the same time those files surfaced. Empek would see through that." 

_            He'll probably see through it anyway,_ she reflected grimly. 

            "Maybe there's another way," Paris offered, and this time a hint of anger touched his voice. "I hate to think of you seeing that bastard again." 

            A flood of warmth penetrated the numbness in her heart, and Janeway smiled sincerely, genuinely touched by his concern. She still had them– her crew, her family. Just as she was looking out for them, they were looking out for her. 

            "Thank you, Tom, but I'll be fine," she glanced up at him over her shoulder, trying to reassure him. "I don't know where Empek is, but we know he'll visit Durant at some point. This is the only way I can ensure we'll meet. There's still a possibility we can work out a deal." 

            She didn't add the second reason she needed to be with her despised husband, her own private knowledge. Kathryn was preparing to send a transmission to one of the major media organizations, an anonymous tip from someone 'on the inside' about the nature of Admiral Janeway's kidnapping. Naturally, an anonymous tip was always questionable and highly debated, but it would have a dire effect upon Durant's campaign in any case, to the extreme if the authorities investigated and found her in Durant's house. 

            It was critical that she be found there. It would prove the single, fatal move she had prepared to destroy Durant politically and vindicate Chakotay. 

            And speaking of Chakotay... 

            "Is he still sleeping?" Kathryn asked softly. 

            Paris glanced back towards the door beyond B'Elanna and Seven. "Yeah. The doctor had to practically sedate him, but once he was down, he was out-- sleeping like a baby." 

            Kathryn smiled at the image. "Good. He probably hasn't slept eight hours total in the past week." 

_            And it's probably better this way._

            With a final, heavy sigh, Kathryn pressed her hands down on the arm rests and pushed herself to her feet. "I'm going." 

            "Now?" Tom was incredulous. "Already? Chakotay's still–" 

            "It doesn't make a difference either way," Janeway said gloomily. "Either we'll both see each other again in a few days, or we'll both die. He's probably seen more than enough of me recently." 

            "I wouldn't say that–" 

            "I've ruined his life." 

            "Don't blame yourself for this," Tom said reassuringly. "You know it killed him when he thought he'd lost you." 

            Janeway had to shut her eyes quickly to prevent them from tearing up. 

            Tom's voice was rich with emotion, "Admiral–" 

            "Don't," she choked out, "I hate goodbyes. You know that. And you know why I want to leave before he wakes." When she opened her eyes again, she saw understanding in his. 

            "Yes, ma'am." 

            She smiled, her eyes shiny. She reached out and grasped his hand in hers. "Just tell them I left." 

            He couldn't seem to find anything to say, so he just nodded, holding her hand briefly before she slipped away, vanishing into the transporter room. 

            * * *

            It was night. He was tired, hungry, moody. He hadn't slept properly in days, he swore he was getting an ulcer as he watched the situation slip gradually out of control. Empek had been right. The kidnapping story, it was just too complicated to maintain. He had no clue where Chakotay was, he had no way to find Janeway. Maybe he could have created a hologram, or perhaps passed her disappearance off as unscheduled vacation time... 

            The door hissed open behind him, and he whirled around see Kathryn Janeway hovering in the doorway of his home office. He stared at the specter before him, frozen in shock. One of Janeway's hands clutched the doorframe, knuckles white with tension, and her sharp eyes followed him apprehensively. Her auburn hair hung flat and unruly about her pale face, lending her simultaneously a weary and tense look about her. Thin lips were pressed tightly together, and he could see her chest rising and falling rapidly from where he stood. It didn't take a Betazoid to see her fear. 

            After a moment's hesitation, she took a tentative step towards him, the door hissing shut behind her. She drew in a breath to speak, began, "John--" 

            There was no conscious thought preceding it. He simply lanced forward, as if on animal instinct, two long strides, and his fist swung. Rage and exhilaration thrilled through his veins as her jaw gave way beneath his fist. Her entire body jerked away, careening violently back to the floor, leaving her crumpled on the floor like a helpless child. She lay at his feet, her body trembling, for a long moment before she pushed herself up, arms unsteady beneath her. 

            Durant watched the pathetic display, marveling at his unexpected strength, at the fact that he'd once feared this woman. Maybe it was justified, once, when she was a Starfleet Captain with razor sharp reflexes, the woman she had been when he'd first met her. But now? How could he have ever feared this creature? 

            He'd hurt her. And it had been so very easy to do. 

            His heart thumped wildly in his chest. I could kill her, if I wanted to. I don't need a phaser, I could kill her now. 

            He stepped towards her again. A look of alarm passed fleetingly over Janeway's features as she tried to flinch away, and her face contorted in pain when he tangled his fist in her hair and yanked her with him. She cried out when her feet failed to keep up and gave way beneath her. It amused him the way her scrawny legs kicked against the ground, her weak fingers trying to dig into the flesh of his hand, to pry his grip from her. She wanted to hurt him; he barely even felt it. He threw her then-- cracking her head against the corner of the desk, relishing her whimper of pain as she fell to the floor with a heavy thunk. 

            Janeway lay there, her hands clamped over her bruised eye, the unbloodied eye watching him with nothing short of terror. A tiny trickle of red seeped from the corner of her mouth. 

            Durant hovered above her, breath ripping raggedly in and out of his lungs. A moment passed before she slowly eased herself up, then stumbled back again. It took her nearly a minute before she was on her feet before him, swaying unsteadily, pain coloring her features, tension gripping her tiny frame. He knew that right now he'd have little trouble pressing her to the floor and taking everything she had tried to deny him, resolving that old issue always hanging between them. But somehow, knowledge of his power had momentarily dampened his need. 

            His rage drained from him as suddenly as it had come. 

            Fighting a sudden exhaustion, Durant demanded, "What happened?" His tone was terse and clipped. "Where the hell have you been?" 

            "Chakotay." Her voice was quiet, her speech slurred with her stiff jaw. "He kidnapped me. I just woke up in the-- he wouldn't let me go." 

            Before Durant could speak, Janeway's fearful expression suddenly melted into one of despair. "Oh John," Janeway's voice was ragged, and he was alarmed to see tears spring to her eyes. "It was horrible! He wouldn't let me go--" Her voice became congested, her words interspersed with sobs and incoherent sounds. "... I didn't know where we were, and he wouldn't tell... he killed them, killed them all-- and they were only there to rescue me! Oh but it was worse..." 

            She threw herself into his arms, and Durant found himself at a loss as he held her shuddering body. Of all the things he'd expected, this wasn't one of them. He ran his hand uneasily up and down her back as she related her horrific tale-- her terror when she awoke Chakotay's captive, when it became clear he wouldn't release her, her fear when she struggled to escape, her shame when she remembered how terribly she'd injured Durant. 

            He stopped listening to her words once he realized it was simple emotional garbage rather than anything useful, and he found his thoughts straying to the media tumult looming outside Starfleet Headquarters. Somehow she'd managed to sneak back onto Earth without alerting authorities. He was disappointed. He had no dramatic rescue to present to the quadrant, nor had he the body of her kidnapper as proof of his heroism. This wouldn't do. It would look suspicious. How would he spin the situation? And how the hell would he get her to shut up and tell him the story straight out? 

            "Kathryn," Durant said finally, pulling back even as she resisted the separation, her face red with her tears. "_Kathryn!_" He shook her shoulders, and was rewarded only by her full weight suddenly sagging down upon his hands. Tilting her head back slightly, he was incredulous to find her unconscious in his arms. 

            It was two days before Tondra agreed it was safe to wake her. He felt a mixture of pride and regret when he discovered his physical assault upon her, and not her emotional distress, was responsible for her unconsciousness. The gnawing anxiety of the last week had faded somewhat now that he had possession of her, but he still drew a blank when it came to a course of action. He needed a plan. 

            And Empek. He needed Empek. Where the hell was Empek? 

            * * *

            Empek intently studied the Starfleet Command file. It was all there, meticulously detailed. Notes on Empek's first rendezvous with Durant, the exact sentences uttered during each and every encounter. Notes on Empek's contacts on Deep Space Seven, in Paris, in Amsterdam, and various other places Empek had included Durant in Syndicate activity. Observations of Empek's character. Lists of Empek's sources at Starfleet Command. Names recorded, faces described. Durant had been meticulous in his record keeping. 

            The source who had relayed the information had suggested that these notes were simply products of Durant's caution. Durant likely required accurate reference material in case of future contingencies. He was only being careful. 

            But even if that were true, _what was this information doing in the database at Starfleet Command?_

            Empek could guess. It had all been a sham. Durant had claimed he wanted Empek's help in his bid for the presidency, when in reality, he had been using Empek. Durant was hoping to deal a blow to the Syndicate, to gather as much information as possible on the organization by working with it, and then to reveal it all to his fellow Starfleet Officers. Given time, Empek might have introduced Durant to the top brass of the Orion Syndicate, the men who remained a secret even to many of their own underlings. This Admiral could single-handedly have taken the Orion Syndicate down in flames, and Empek would have been his tool to do it. 

            Destroy the Syndicate. If that feat couldn't get a man elected to the presidency, Empek didn't know what could. Durant was a clever man. 

            Empek felt a fleeting respect for Durant's resourcefulness. He had taken Empek in line and sinker. Better yet, he had fooled Empek's superiors. How the under bosses would despise Durant for it. And how grateful they would be to Empek once he terminated their betrayer. 

            Empek felt strangely relieved. Had Durant truly been an ally, and had he lost his presidential bid, Empek would surely have lost his life. Had Durant been publicly discredited while he was in the Syndicate's good graces, Empek would have lost his life. Now that Durant was exposed as an active enemy of the Syndicate, he could be discredited, scorned, killed for all Empek cared, and the blame would not rest upon Empek's shoulders. There would surely be purging in the upper eschelons of the organization, those who originally had the foolery to include Durant in their plans, but Empek would be safe from that retaliation if he acted now. 

            Empek needed to conceal the Syndicate's affiliation with the soon-to-be-late Admiral Durant, to erase all data on the organization from Starfleet's database. Simple enough. He would arrange it immediately. 

            And as for his own tasks... Terminate Durant. Pleasurable enough. Terminate Janeway. 

                        Empek paused a moment, trying to figure out the other Admiral's role in this. She was the only variable he could not factor into this equation. If Durant was a loyal Starfleet Officer, if this had all been a sham, why would he have allowed Empek's mistreatment of Janeway? The termination of Janeway's family, of her crewmen? 

            While Empek knew many people at Starfleet Command viewed Janeway unfavorably, he also knew none of those sturdy Admirals would resort to murdering her family for the sake of taking down the Syndicate. 

            Empek stared back at the terminal on the desk in front of him. It was _too_ simple. Too neat. Yes, the organization would buy the story of Durant's betrayal. Yes, the media would turn a blind eye to the Syndicate's role in Durant's disgrace and eventual death. But someone had counted upon that. Had Durant truly betrayed the Syndicate, he would have concealed this information somewhere Empek could never hope to find it. But it was sitting conveniently in the command database, waiting to be exposed to Empek's sources. 

            * * *

            When her eyes slipped open, something in her expression had cleared since the last time they spoke. Durant was relieved that she was somewhat collected now-- he had no clue how to deal with Janeway in an emotional mess-- and he eased her up and pressed a glass of water to her lips. She swayed a little unsteadily, but drank eagerly, draining the entire glass. 

            "Feeling ready to talk?" he asked. 

            "Talk?" her voice was slightly weak, and the eyes she turned to him bleary. "What do we need to talk about?" 

            Perhaps still disoriented, her attention seemed to stray, and he quickly snaked his fingers into her hair so he could hold her gaze to his. "How did you get back here, to Earth? Did anyone see you?" 

            A shaky smile spread across her face then. "Chakotay let me go. I talked him into it. And..." her brow furrowed, puzzled. "I don't know if anyone saw me." 

            This was bad. Very bad. He needed-- No, perhaps it could work. Admiral Janeway's repentant kidnapper. Maybe word could be spread that Durant's eloquent statements had convinced him to release his beloved wife... But goddamn it, they needed to apprehend Chakotay. The story had to be straight with him. If he were arrested and he revealed the details about exactly how Janeway had slipped so easily into his hands... 

            "Kathryn, we need to get our stories straight, do you understand me?" Durant's voice was loud and careful, as though he spoke to a child. She looked away, and he pulled her head back around so they were face to face. "We need to find Chakotay and get our stories straight." 

            "Oh no," Janeway said quickly, her expression suddenly fearful. "Don't make me see him again, John. Please." 

            "We have to. Can you tell me where he is? Do you know?" 

            She hesitated, her blue eyes flickering. "I... think he left Earth." 

            "Did he say where he was going?" 

            She shook her head mutely, meek as a kitten. Too meek. What had happened to this woman? Had her ordeal at Chakotay's hands left her this traumatized? What could he have done– 

            Had she ever behaved this way? After he hurt her, hurt her family, her friends, had she ever been silent, compliant, _fearful_? 

            And the only man who could give him answers had left Earth. Chakotay. Gone. How inconvenient. 

_            Too_ inconvenient. 

            And then Durant felt a stab of suspicion, so fresh, so terrible in his mind. _Oh God..._ he thought, sick with the thought that, even now, she might be planning something. 

            His grip in her hair tightened, and Janeway visibly winced, trying to pull out of his grip. 

            "Kathryn," Durant said, his voice deadly. "What is going on?" 

            Janeway immediately responded to the tone. He felt her entire body tense, and her expression froze, her breathing suddenly halted. 

            Innocently, she said, "What-- I don't know what you mean." 

            The sheer lack of guile on her face confirmed it for him, and he yanked her closer to him, roughly enough that she nearly fell off the sick bed. His hand clamped the other side of her head. "Kathryn," Durant growled warningly, holding her wide blue eyes, "I know something's going on. You're trying to trick me. Do I have to call Empek? _Do I?_ Because, by God, you know I will." 

            Janeway's eyes suddenly became cool, glacial, and the tiny smirk that tugged at her lips chilled him. "Call Empek." Her voice was ice. "Be my guest." 

            This right here was the woman he knew, the woman with the cold blue eyes, the twisted, cynical smirk, the stony expression on her face. Did she know Empek had neglected him recently? Did she know something he didn't know about Empek's silence? 

            He was afraid then. Terrified. Terrified of what she was plotting. Afraid of what she already had accomplished. What the hell did she know that he didn't know? 

            Durant kept a wary eye on her and he tapped into his keypad his silent transmission to Empek's residence, despite his foreknowledge that Empek was off somewhere, that he might not reply for days. 

            Janeway rolled off the bed and lowered herself into one of the plush arm chairs across the room, eyeing him like a hawk, her expression smug. 

            That alone confirmed it for him. 

* * *

            Empek was watching his viewer. A special Federation News Report. The harried female reporter had a look of genuine confusion on her face as she intoned uncertainly, "... received word from a source close to Durant that Admiral Janeway's kidnapping was a _publicity stunt_ for Jonathan Durant's campaign for the presidency. Kathryn Janeway is presently safe, and if these allegations are true, installed in Jonathan Durant's residence. If this revelation proves accurate, it will have profound implications for the upcoming presidential race. Councilman Sovar has already issued a statement condemning--" 

            Empek didn't need to know more. How convenient that Durant was tarnished before the quadrant shortly after being tarnished in the eyes of the Orion Syndicate. How convenient that whoever had leaked the career-shattering information to the media now was safe from the Syndicate's wrath. 

            Empek knew who had orchestrated the entire setup. 

            He looked balefully at the message blinking on the other screen, Durant's request for his presence. He'd ignored it quite purposefully the last few days, trying to puzzle out the true nature of Durant's involvement with the Syndicate. If Janeway truly was back with Durant, as he claimed in his message, perhaps it was high time Empek paid them a visit. 

            * * *

            "Chakotay. COMMANDER CHAKOTAY!" 

            He shot up, just inches away from cracking his head on the overhead bunk. He stared blearily for a moment around the dim room, disoriented and still bearing the heavy mantle of exhaustion. His mind danced quickly over the events of the last few days-- Seven's magic with Durant's computer, Janeway's abrupt departure, Tom departing for a clandestine meeting with his father. The recent hours had been slow and drawn out, leaving Chakotay hanging in terrible suspense as he waited for the cards to fall. 

            But now he was confused. Had someone shouted his name? Was there something wrong? 

            The doors hissed open, and the Doctor's bald head peeked in. 

            "Commander," the hologram's voice was thin with tension, "You had better get down here." 

            Chakotay didn't need to be told twice. He threw off the blankets, glanced over briefly at the half-Klingon stubbornly clinging to sleep at his side. He grasped her shoulder with a large hand and shook her insistently. 

            "B'Elanna..." 

            Torres half-moaned, half-growled a sleepy, "This better be good." 

            "I'll let you decide that," the Doctor said from the doorway, gesturing for Chakotay to follow him. 

            He could hear his heart thumping in his ears as he followed the hologram down the constricted corridor. They emerged into the cockpit to find the ever-stoic Seven of Nine staring grimly at the view screen. 

            "...in case you are just joining us, the Federation News Network has just received an allegation from a source close to Durant that Admiral Janeway's disappearance is a, and I quote, 'publicity stunt' for Jonathan Durant's campaign. Although the truth of this accusation is still in dispute, the credibility of the source...." 

            Chakotay listened in mounting horror. 

            "...the authorities are dismissive of the allegation, but FNN has received confirmation they will nevertheless investigate..." 

            "My God," Chakotay murmured, rubbing his cheek with his fingers. He found himself at a loss. Of all the scenarios he'd imagined, this was from left field... 

            "This is good, right?" Torres said, glancing between the others. "They'll find Janeway with him, and the whole lid will be off about the real Durant." 

            "No, it's not," Chakotay's voice was grim. "If Durant knows they're looking for her, he's going to make sure they never find her.." 

            "What do you--" 

            "He'll kill her." 

            They fell silent, staring mutely at the view screen as the reporter continued relating the story. 

            Chakotay had a sudden feeling of helplessness, knowing she was down there at the mercy of Durant and beyond his help. How would he find her? She could be anywhere-- Durant's private residences, planetside Syndicate residences. She could be dead already. 

            No. He shook his head briefly. Not dead. He would know. If she'd been killed, somehow, he would know. 

            "B'Elanna," he said quietly, "Did Empek ever find those files?" 

            "Someone stumbled on them. I don't know if it was Empek... But Chakotay, it's only been two days. We don't even know if Empek's received them yet. I don't know if there was time--" 

            "Then we can't count on Empek to take out Durant," Chakotay said with a calm he did not feel. "We need another approach." 

            "What do you intend to do?" Seven of Nine asked. 

            Seeing the look that stole in his eyes, Torres immediately gauged his intent. "Chakotay, no," she said harshly, whipping forward to block his path. "They're looking for you. They still think you're a fugitive down there, and if you're captured you'll play right into Durant's hands..." 

            He understood her objection. Durant would have a chance to kill him. If Durant succeeded, he could fabricate any story he wanted about Janeway's kidnapping and have Chakotay's body as evidence. He could even kill Kathryn and point the finger to Chakotay without a living party to object to the falsehood. If Chakotay ventured there and the situation went wrong, they would lose everything. 

            But damn it, Kathryn was in danger. He wasn't going to let Durant kill her, not without a fight, even if it meant he had to put everything on the line. 

            The Doctor and Seven were not following the exchange, and the Doctor appeared baffled. "Commander, I'm not sure what you mean to accomplish, but--" 

            Chakotay pushed Torres aside, fumbled beneath the console, and pulled out a phaser compression rifle. 

            "It's quite simple, Doctor," Chakotay said in a voice that chilled the hologram. His eyes glittered as he stared darkly at the viewscreen. "I'm going to find her, and then I'm going to find him. If Durant's hurt her, he's a dead man." 


	15. Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

            Kathryn watched the chronometer intently, the harsh red numbers glaring at her through the darkness.  Her body felt ramrod stiff, the rhythm of her heart frantic in her chest.  She'd summoned enough courage to send the transmission only a few hours before, disclosing some parting information regarding Durant's affiliation with certain members of that media organization as proof that she was someone in the know.  They couldn't discount her word, but hopefully, they wouldn't immediately discern her identity.

            It would be broadcast any minute now, or it may already have been.  Her eyes flitted sharply across the room, to Durant, hovering with gray-faced agitation over a console as he fretted over Empek's silence.  He would hear about it soon; even if he wasn't watching the viewer, someone within his campaign would notify him.  Tondra, maybe.  Hopefully not Empek.

            And hopefully, their scheming had already poisoned Empek's view of Durant.  If not, Empek would interpret her move against his ally Durant as a move against the Syndicate, and eliminate her crew in retaliation.

            But if she hadn't made that move, she would have condemned her best friend to the existence of a fugitive.

            She glanced down at her hands, twisted together in her lap.  The knowledge that she might just have bailed Chakotay out of the mess gave her a tiny degree of comfort.  She tried to ignore the stab of pain when she thought of him, not needing to be reminded of what she'd lost with him.

            She couldn't help but think over the mistakes she'd made.  If she'd been more receptive to him on Voyager, he would have stayed with her upon their return to Earth.  Durant would never have approached her, her family and crewmen would still be alive, Chakotay would have no price on his head, and she would not be sitting here with all their fates hinging upon whether the Orion Syndicate had been efficient enough to discover those files at Starfleet Command.

            For that matter, Seven would never have known a broken heart, B'Elanna and Tom would never have had to endanger their child, Admiral Paris would still be her friend.

            Then, of course, had she been more receptive, she might never have become the original Admiral Janeway who traveled back through time to get Voyager home.  They might all have been killed in the Delta Quadrant.  Chakotay might have died in her arms, rather than Seven in his.  They could have been assimilated.  Or devoured by a giant pitcher--

            *_Enough!*  _She checked herself before her thoughts strayed farther.

            If it all went according to plan, Empek would arrive, hopefully before Durant turned on the news.  He would be convinced of Durant's culpability and kill him.  She would have a chance to speak with him before he killed her, a chance to ascertain his plans with regards to her crew.  Would he still kill them?  Or would her death fulfill the thirst for vengeance of the Syndicate?  As far as he would be concerned, she'd complied with all his directives.  He'd have no reason to hurt anyone else.

            Kathryn knew she stood little chance of persuading him to spare her life.  She was the witness.  His witness.  As long as she lived, there was someone who could reveal the involvement of the Syndicate with the infamous Durant.  The reputation and relatively secure standing of the Syndicate would be deeply tarnished if it were associated with this failure.  It was their code, never to leave a witness alive.  That code was the sole reason the crime syndicate had flourished over the years when other less-than-legitimate organizations went down in flames.  They were, in their own twisted way, reliable.

            Her husband's voice cut through her reverie.  

            "Well, damned if I know what he's up to."

            Janeway looked up quickly to see Durant leaning against the console, his arms folded across his chest.  He hadn't left her alone since she'd returned, always watching her when she moved, ordering Tondra to sedate her when he left the compound or slumbered.  He was convinced it was the threat of Empek that made her his compliant prisoner.  He had no idea she remained with him only to ensure her desired outcome of this mess.

            She studied him closely.  His face looked gray and haggard, his usual vibrancy having deserted him.  His brown hair was damp with sweat.  The stress had driven him to repeatedly rake his fingers through it, and it rested in wet strands across his forehead, unkempt and sloppy.  His entire demeanor spoke of a despondency she hadn't yet seen on him.  She almost smiled.  It was a damn fine sight to see.

            "Empek is off somewhere..." Durant recounted wearily, "The general public thinks you've been kidnapped and I'm absolutely baffled as to how I'll pull this off...  Chakotay is nowhere to be found...  You've clearly figured out some way to hurt me, and I have no idea what it is, and no way to find out..."

            At the surprise on her face, he smiled, his expression surprisingly bland.  "You've been back the last few days, drifting around the place like a ghost. Even if it wasn't for that smug look I keep catching on your face when my back is turned, I'd know from something else.  You've always been transparent to me, Kathryn."

            She felt a brief flash of anger at his assumption, but quickly stifled it.  Let him operate under that assumption.  She would have the last laugh.

            He smiled suddenly.  The sudden shift in his demeanor told her he'd drawn up his mantle of charm and charisma.  When he turned to her with a reassuring twinkle in his eyes, her suspicion was confirmed, and she was immediately wary.

            "You know, it was so different just two weeks ago," Durant said thoughtfully, holding her eyes as he took a few steps towards her.  "Tondra, Empek, me-- hell, Kathryn, even you... We were like clockwork, always on the same step together, coordinated.  There was nothing beyond the four of us.  We created all this power, this incredible momentum from nothing– virtually spun hay and into gold.  What the hell happened?"

            Janeway stared at him silently, clenching her fingers on the armrests of her chair.  Bastard.  Always trying to inspire false dreams in others.  It wouldn't work with her.  He would rake no warmth from the bleakness of his acquaintance with her.

            As he watched her silently, something resembling affection flooded his features, and he drew closer to her, hovering just a few feet away.  His lips tugged into a smile, one containing no malice, merely a helpless sort of confusion that under different circumstances might seem endearing.

            "Why did it have to work out this way, Kathryn?" he asked her softly. "You and I, we could have taken on the universe together.  It didn't have to be this way.  Oh, you hate me," he said as she turned her head sharply away, "I know it.  You don't need to tell me again.  But I don't know how you can just sit there, so stoic and so… self-righteous… when you don't even comprehend what we've lost!  None of this business would have occurred if you'd just cooperated with me in the first place.  I never would have needed to bring Empek into our lives.  It all would have been different."

            She barked out a sour laugh.  Suddenly aware that he was standing and she was still seated, she rose up to her feet and circled around the back of the chair, resting her hands on the wooden back to assure herself a solid object remained between them.

            "You make it sound like you had no choice in the matter, John."  Her eyes were flashing with contempt.  "I suppose some unseeing hand of fate forced you to murder my family, did it?"

            Durant shifted his weight in agitation.  His voice was still patient.  "I did what I had to do.  I had a vision for the Federation, and it could have changed the future.  You complicated everything, Kathryn.  Everything.  I needed you, the Federation needed you, and you wanted nothing more than to throw road blocks in our path.  I only did what I could to clear that path…  Look at it from someone else's perspective this one time, Kathryn, just this once.  I saw a future that only you could help me achieve.  Can't you see that  the means justified the ends?"

            "That's where you're wrong," she replied quietly.  "The means are every bit as important as the ends.  You murdered seven people, people dear to me– and don't write it off on Empek's conscience; you ordered it, the blood is on your hands.  I don't know how many others were killed indirectly by you through the Syndicate, how many as a result of your actions."

            She leaned forward imperceptibly, the withering glare on her face one usually reserved for opponents on the other side of the view screen. 

            "You were a Starfleet Captain once, John.  You were once a Starfleet Officer over a politician.  You should understand the responsibility that comes with power.  Don't you have any lingering feeling of human compassion?  Can you even comprehend a human life, the emotions, the hopes, the dreams...  All that you stole from those people? And for what?  A vague concept for reforming the government?  You chose a system over a human life?   The system *is* only human lives.  It's there for the very people you hoped to trick into electing you president, for the people you murdered in the name of your vision."  

She dropped back a step, suddenly feeling strong and relentless, for the first time in months.   "I would never have let you do it.  I *will never* let you do it."  Her eyes narrowed on him coldly.  "Your future is never going to happen, John, no matter how many publicity stunts you pull, not even if by some miracle you get your majority yet.  You will get up there and they will see through you and your empty reforms.  Just like I have."

            He sneered at that.  "See through me?  Jesus, Kathryn, you just want to twist everything to make me the villain here, don't you?  Hold on a moment before you play up your powers of perception.  You only 'saw through me', if that's even the proper term, after I had you in my hands.  You were as thick as anyone else."  His eyes narrowed.  "You always thought the power was yours, didn't you? You could take any man and stuff him into your pocket, including me.  All those months you smiled at me, flirted with me, you thought you were the one twisting me, when I was actually the one manipulating you."  His tone grew harsher, more contemptuous.  "I think that galled you as much as anything– losing control of the situation.  You just enjoyed your power too much, and it blinded you with me.  And now you talk to me about blood on my hands?  What about the blood on yours?  The future you eliminated when you changed the timeline, the countless aliens you slaughtered to return home.  Or does murder go by a gentler name when it's committed by you?"

            "No."

            The word was quiet, and easier for her to say than she expected.

            "No, it's still murder," she said quietly, watching as he drew a step back with an impassive expression on his face.  "I have as much blood on my hands as yours, more even.  You had your vision for the future, I had my vision of returning to Earth, and I was no better than you when I tried to fulfill my dream.  We're both despicable people, and maybe in a way I deserved you."  She glanced beyond him, out the window towards the looming sky scape of San Francisco.  "But they don't.  Not those people out there, not my crew.  Not my family."

            "Nice words, Kathryn.  You almost sounded profound."  He turned away from her and strode over the bookshelf dominating the far wall.  She could hear a faint trickling as he poured himself a drink, and after indulging in a deep swig of the amber liquid, he was again facing her.

            "Nice words... but I just don't believe you."  He stared at her over his drink, rocking the glass thoughtfully between two fingers.  "This is not for the people, not for your lost crew.  Your hatred of me is all about you.  You're about control.  You always have been.  Look at the people you kept closest to you on Voyager– a Borg drone and a Vulcan, two people as emotionally stunted as you are, and that pansy Chakotay... You could always just manipulate him at a whim, couldn't you?  But I was different.  I was opinionated.  I was self-aware.  I was–"

            "Deluded!" she broke in angrily.  "You always were, John.  That bullshit you'd spew about the future, it was laughable then and it's still ridiculous now.  If you were half the man in reality that you are in your head, you wouldn't have needed me to get you elected.  Oh, you lied well, you schemed well, but in the end, the only way you were able to reach these heights was by standing on my shoulders."

            He shook his head.  "I should have known this would degenerate into an argument.  I tried to talk to you, explain my point of view—"

             "You weren't trying to explain your point of view, you were trying to impose it on me!"

"--and you responded like you always do– belligerent, arrogant, stubborn.  I thought maybe the incident with Chakotay would change something, but it hasn't.  You're still an unreasonable, narrow-minded bitch."

Janeway just smirked at him, her eyes still cold.  "Can't win the argument, can you, John?  You have to resort to insults now."

            He raked his fingers through his thick brown hair in a show of aggravation.  "I'm done with this.  With you."  He whirled away from her and stalked towards the view screen, unaware of Janeway's sudden jolt of alarm.  "You know, maybe I should have just had you killed."  He jabbed his finger at the controls.  "Your Chakotay provided us with ample opportunity–" his voice abruptly cut off as he saw his own face on the view screen.

            Janeway bowed her head slightly, her eyelids sinking closed.  The gig was up.  The voice of the reporter droned like white light in the distance, raining down words that were right now shattering Durant's dream.  She opened her eyes to watch his expression intently, wanting to savor the destruction of his hopes before she paid the inevitable price for destroying them.

            Sheer astonishment washed over his features.  He stared, stock still, for a long moment, his eyes frozen in place, his mouth open just a crack in stunned disbelief.  Then slowly, gradually, anger began to glimmer in his eyes.  Patches of red made their way to his cheeks.  His features contorted, twisted, and his mild, almost genial appearance transformed before her morbidly fascinated gaze into the terrifying face of a monster..

            He slowly turned to face her, and his expression was murderous.  She could see his chest expanding and shrinking rapidly with his breath, his jaw fluttering with the rage pulsing through him.  His eyes were two embers of malice, hate, and for a moment, she was tempted to shrink beneath his gaze.  But no.  She wouldn't.  Kathryn stood firmly in place, meeting his eyes, holding her chin up.  She was determined to show no fear.

Something seemed to snap back in place within him, perhaps his politician's instincts responding the calmness in her.  Durant's expression froze into a stony mask, only the burning rage in his eyes revealing the effort it was taking him to hold his peace.

            After a long, hostile silence, he noted in an edgy voice, "That... anonymous source had information.  Information you knew."

            She returned his stare impassively.

            Disbelief fought with rage in his expression. "It's a lie.  That report...  You lied to them.  You know I didn't set it up..."

            "No," she said wryly, her voice laced with a mixture of triumph and tension.  "You had no hand in my abduction.  Terribly ironic, isn't it?  All the shit you've pulled, and your career will be ruined by the one crime you didn't even commit."

            He took a threatening step towards her, then paused warily.  His voice was almost a whisper.  "Why haven't you run?  You know I'm going to kill you."

            Janeway shrugged, the intensity in her eyes belying the airiness of her voice.  "No point.  We're both living at the point of Empek's dagger.  I'll die if I run, I'll die if I stay.  At least here I get to watch you go to hell with me."

"It won't work.  Your kidnapping-- a publicity stunt?  They'll never find your body," he said heatedly.  "They'll have no way to prove anything."

            "Does that really matter, John?" Kathryn asked sweetly, her voice shaking now with her sadistic pleasure at witnessing his distress.  "They have doubts about you now.  Even if you kill me, they will never see you without wondering about me, without questioning whether you're a murderer."  She smiled sourly.  "You'll never be elected.  You'll never reshape the Federation in your image.  That was all you wanted out of life, wasn't it?  Well, your life might as well have ended today."  Janeway smiled again, menacingly.  "It may well yet."

            "Empek will help me," Durant said raggedly.  "He'll find a way–"

            "I wouldn't count on it." Janeway allowed herself some further satisfaction.  "I don't think Empek will be giving you a great deal of help at all."

            His eyes widened imperceptibly, and he glanced suddenly towards the blank message center, then back at her.  "You did something, didn't you?" he demanded.  "What the hell did you do?"

            Janeway shook her head.  "That's too easy, John.  I'd prefer you find out for yourself."

            He did leap towards her then, grabbing her harshly by the shoulders and slamming her against the wall behind her.

            "*_What the hell did you do?*"_  he roared in her face."Answer me, goddamn you!"

            "Perhaps I could fill you in."

            The frosty male voice, controlled, precise, carefully calculated, sent a chill through Kathryn, and she immediately jerked away from Durant's grip with a sick feeling.  One glance confirmed her fears.  Empek loomed in the doorway, staring at them with impassive black eyes.  How had he–

            "Empek!"

            The strained cheer in Durant's voice was palpable, and he practically bounded over to his comrade, urgent and terrified at once.

            "Jesus, Empek, she's made a mess of everything," he began quickly, his words running together, spilling into each other.  "She spread a lie about me with the media–"

            "I know."

            "–and she's done-- God knows what else, Empek—but it's a mess...  We'll get rid of her!  I'm not sure--"

            "Calm yourself, Admiral," Empek cut in, his voice clinical and detached.  His gaze lingered upon Janeway a long moment, and her tension doubled when she could not decipher the nature of his regard.

            "Admiral Janeway has been very busy," Empek spoke up at last, sharing a brief glance with Durant before turning his charcoal gaze back at her.  "Between spreading lies about you with the media and trying to tarnish you with me–"

            Janeway's blood ran cold.

            "–she's been surprisingly effective at sabotaging your prospects for the presidency."

            Kathryn was horrified.  Empek had seen through the planted documents, the press release, and now it was over.  She had no grounds to plead on behalf of her crew.  The Syndicate would kill her crew.  She'd gambled everything and lost, and taken down everyone she cared for in the process.  She'd fucked up.  Oh, Gods, but she'd fucked it up.  

Tiny black dots began to swim before her vision, and she was overcome with a sudden nausea.  Her knees grew weak beneath her, and consciousness threatened to slip away.  Her hand instinctively clamped over her side, the other one slithering to clutch the wall behind her in support.

            "What did she do?" Durant demanded savagely, his voice surreal, as if at a distance.

            "She planted a number of files of yours with Starfleet Command, with the cooperation of Admiral Paris, of course.  Records you kept about my activities.  It would have been very possible for me to misconstrue the reason for their presence there.   I could have come to the wrong conclusions about you."

            Durant shot her an enraged look.  It had no impact within the sudden numbness of her heart.

            "We can still save this, can't we?" Durant said with a note of desperation.  "Empek, we'll get rid of her, and maybe if we find Chakotay–"

            "It's too late for that," Empek cut in.  He cast a long glance at Janeway.  "Even if we pulled this off, Admiral, I doubt this scandal would ever leave you.  You overplayed your hand.  The sympathy vote is notoriously fickle, you see.  The slightest suspicion that you had a hand in your own wife's disappearance, and you'll find yourself scrambling for even a primary qualifier.   I warned you.  Unfortunately, you failed to heed my words."

            Durant stared at him.  "Empek, I–"

            "There comes a point, Admiral, when an investment ceases to pay off.  Instead of vainly attempting to salvage this situation, I have an alternate scenario for you." Empek's expression had not changed, but his menace drew up about him like an invisible cloak.  His black eyes gleamed like cold marble.  "The Syndicate will turn our eyes from this campaign.  I will contact my superiors, and inform them about the incident with the files, only I'll omit the tiny detail regarding Admiral Janeway's hand in the matter..."

            Janeway looked up sharply, wondering if she'd just heard what she'd thought she heard.

            Durant was speechless.  "Empek..." he faltered.

            "I don't care to have this failure on my hands; I'd much prefer to have it on yours.  Admiral Janeway's manipulations have provided me with a fairly convenient way out of my commitment to you.  What use are you to me?  You're damaged in the eyes of the public, and soon will be irreparably destroyed in the eyes of the Syndicate."  Empek's voice dropped, "I'm sure no one would raise question if a distraught Admiral Durant mysteriously vanished, clearly fleeing the law after the media uncovers his role in the questionable disappearance of his wife.  You'll die, she'll die, and my involvement in this travesty of an investment will be lost in the pages of history."

            Durant's was still agape in disbelief.  The final card had fallen, and he was done for.  All the shit had officially hit the fan.  Kathryn felt an absurd urge to congratulate Empek on a job well done.

            And then she realized that something was not quite right here.  If she knew Empek-- which she didn't—or at least, if she knew his style, she realized he would simply have killed them by now and proceeded with his plan.  There was no need for all this talking.  She felt dizzy again, wondering what all this talking could be about.

            "Why are you telling us this?"

            Her own voice surprised her, hoarse, somewhat quieter than usual, but still emanating from her vocal chords despite her will to remain silent.

            Empek lazily turned his dark eyes towards her, and inclined his head slightly.

            "Conversation does lack a certain degree of… efficiency, doesn't it, Admiral Janeway?  You're correct if you've assumed I have something more in mind."  His gaze slid back to Durant, and his voice was again without emotion or inflection.  "I require from you, Admiral Durant, the names of everyone who might possibly know about those files.  Doctor Tondra is an obvious candidate, but clearly you've had a chance to involve others.  I need to know anyone to whom you've revealed our little operation—"

            Durant gave a high-pitched laugh, the peril of his situation now very apparent to him.  "You—you just said you're about to kill me," his words were spliced with frantic laughter, verging on hysteria.  "And you want me to cooperate with you?"

            Empek's smile was slow and empty.  "I could do far worse in addition to killing you, Admiral.  Infinitely worse."

            Kathryn felt herself smirk, finding the slightest bit of humor despite herself.  "The man knows what he's talking about, John.  Believe me."  She earned herself a curious glance from Empek.

            "And I'll, of course, expect the same of you, Admiral Janeway," Empek continued, turning his attention to her.

            Her expression barely flickered.  "I haven't told anyone.  When would I have had a chance?"  She darted her eyes sharply between the two men.  "You both made sure I had no opportunity."

            "And your…  Mr. Chakotay?" Empek pressed, his eyes narrowing.  "He would know nothing of your predicament?  You never confided in your dearest friend?"

            Kathryn hesitated.  "He's not my dearest friend.  I told you—"

            "You told me quite a few fabrications, Admiral Janeway, none of which—Admiral Durant!"  Empek's black eyes remained locked on Janeway as he spoke.  "I'm aware you're moving towards the phaser rifle in your bottom desk drawer.  I'd advise you to return to your former spot unless you'd prefer an extended, agonizing fate."

            Kathryn glanced over to see an admonished Durant quickly moving back to his place.  She wondered briefly if Empek even had a weapon on him.  But he had to have something.  And Durant realized it, too.  As she looked into Empek's impassive black eyes she knew with utmost certainty that he had it within his power to murder them both at this very moment if he chose.

            "As I was saying, Admiral, I've come to the conclusion that you were, and still are, much closer to Commander Chakotay than you led us to believe—"

            "What?" from Durant, in the background.

            "Perhaps," Empek added dispassionately,  "Even on intimate terms."

            "No."  The single denial was all Kathryn could manage.

            Empek's smile chilled her.  "The 'Angry Warrior', the hotel room in Italy, the tension at the gala…"

            "How do you know these things?"  Kathryn said in a whisper.

            "Perhaps these revive your memory?  And Admiral Durant, I notice you're still contriving a way to retrieve that phaser…"

            This time Janeway was too reeled to even glance at Durant, who for his part was denying his movement.

            Empek focused upon her again.  "Does Commander Chakotay know, Admiral Janeway?  Must I ask him myself?"

            She shook her head, staring at the carpet blurring before her through increasingly damp eyes.  "No."

            "What was that?"

            "I said no!"  She turned her head up sharply, the harshness in her voice surprising even her.  Her eyes burned.  "You're right, I did care for Chakotay.  I love him—do you hear it?  I do!  And that's why *_I would never tell him.*_  I would never involve him in this.  I couldn't help what happened on Deep Space Seven, but I could help what came out of my mouth, and I said nothing about any of this!"

            Empek studied her for a long moment, then withdrew, seemingly, to Kathryn's wishful thinking, satisfied with her answer.

            She turned and met Durant's incredulous gaze.  The man seemed to have forgotten his inevitable death for at least the moment.

            "Chakotay—you and he…?"

            Kathryn shrugged.  "Yes."

            "But *_Chakotay?*"_

            She sneered at him.  "Twice the man you'll ever be."  She glanced derisively at his groin.  "And I mean that literally."

            Durant took an angry step towards her, but Empek's voice interrupted,  "As amusing as this infantile display is, I feel, Admiral Durant, that you and I need to get down to—"

            All three simultaneously stiffened to attention, hearing the muffled sound of voices beyond the door.  Kathryn's heart jumped in her throat, wondering if the authorities had already found the residence.  This wasn't Durant's official home—how would they have…?

            The door hissed open.

"—can't go in there!"  Tondra's voice as Chakotay barged past her, practically shoving her against the door frame.

            Chakotay fell short a stride, his expression tightening when he took in the three before him, and Tondra's stress was apparent when she darted in front of him.

            "I told him he couldn't come here, he just let himself in—" she stopped, her eyes resting on Empek.  "Oh, hello, Empek.  I didn't expect you."

            "Doctor Tondra," Empek said cordially, inclining his head.  Then he raised his disruptor and vaporized her.

            Kathryn flinched, and somewhere she was aware of Durant's rapid movements somewhere behind her.  She could see Chakotay jerking back away from the screaming doctor who was even now dissolving within the predatory green light of the disruptor.  A split second later, she was gone.

            Chakotay stared at the blank spot where she had stood, his expression startled.  Kathryn watched him fearfully.  What was he doing here?

            "Mr. Chakotay, how convenient," Empek began.

            Chakotay suddenly seemed to remember himself and raised his phaser.  Empek was too quick.  The green ray of his disruptor sliced through the air and shot the weapon right from Chakotay's hand.  It was this instant that Durant whipped up from behind his desk and sent a vicious phaser beam Empek's way.

            The large, ashen-haired man staggered briefly from the impact, looking back towards Durant, thus allowing Chakotay just enough time to slam bodily into him.

            Janeway barely had time to fumble around for any sort of weapon when she suddenly felt her hair jerked, hard, from behind, sending her off balance.  The tip of Durant's phaser pressed bruisingly against her neck.

            "Move it," he growled threateningly.

            Kathryn intentionally stumbled against him, causing his hand to nudge just enough for the phaser to slip away from her neck.  Her hand darted up and wrenched at his wrist, shoving the phaser and his arm up in the air away from her, giving her enough leeway to twist free and slam him in the crotch, bend down, retrieve his fallen phaser, and blow his head off.

            Well, that was the plan.

            She stumbled against him, but instead of continuing to shove her forward, he practically lifted her and hauled her with him.

            This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.  Kathryn began struggling anew, kicking, twisting, but she wasn't strong enough anymore.  Captain Janeway could have soundly kicked this man's ass and then handed it to him.  Now, two years later and thirty, muscle laden pounds lighter, Janeway could only squirm against his grip, lolling her head backwards futilely to try to get a glimpse of Chakotay.

            For his part, the former Commander was faring little better.  He pounced on Empek's back, sending the other man to the floor on his belly, supposedly crushed by his weight.  He only then discovered the fallacy in tackling a man whose strength so surpassed his own.  Empek extended one arm behind him and grasped Chakotay's arm, wrenching it with an inhuman strength to send the dark haired man straight into the air and slamming to the floor beyond Empek's head.

            Chakotay lay there on a brief moment, dazed, wondering how anyone short of Seven of Nine could possess the strength to throw him from that angle.  He heard Empek's shuffling and pushed himself over.  The sudden, startled movement proved too much for his bereaved shoulder, and it gave way beneath him with a sickening jolt of pain.  He caught himself on his other arm and shoved himself up, panting and in pain, only to glimpse the other man already looming above him, having not broken a sweat.

            Chakotay swung his good arm back for a punch.  Empek blocked it.  Chakotay kicked, found himself shoved back.  He stumbled away from the other man, momentarily at a loss, inconveniently without the use of his right arm.

            Empek watched him with cold eyes and cocked his head to the side in a morbid parody of light-heartedness.

            "If that business is aside, Commander, I think we have some—"

            Chakotay's hand found a vase on the table behind him, and he tossed it with all his strength at Empek's head.

            The other man ducked away to shield his face just long enough for Chakotay to sprint out the door, darting down the hall and then hovering, staring back towards the door to Durant's chamber, waiting for Empek to pursue.

            But Empek never emerged from the chamber.  He evidently had something more pressing to attend to.

                                                *          *          *

            Hallway followed hallway.  Janeway had spent little time in this particular hideout of Durant's, but she was certain she'd remember if it had always been this large and elaborate.

            She'd given up struggling, opting to save her strength for a time it might do her some good.  Instead, she chose to be a dead weight for Durant to carry, hoping that might slow him down.  Then again, what did she need to slow him down for?  In all likelihood it would be Empek who emerged intact from the fight, who chased them down the corridor, and not the man she really wanted to see.

            Her throat constricted at the image of Chakotay, lying crumpled on the floor.

            Durant hustled her now into another room, hurling her blindly to the floor somewhere in front of him.  The impact jarred her, knocking the air out of her, and she'd just staggered to her feet when he punched the lights on.

            Ah.  The transporter mat.

            Durant kept his phaser trained on her as he circled around the panel and began tapping frantically at keys, glancing up sporadically to monitor her.

            Frustration mounted on his face.  His fist slammed against the console.  "Damn.  Come on.  Fucking hell!  The bastard tripped the control panel."  He looked up at her with a sweat soaked face, his eyes desperate.  "Kathryn—you know this stuff.  You know technology.  Get it to work!  Come over here, now!"

            "No," she said resolutely.

            "Goddamn you, do you know what he's about to do to us?" Durant shouted at her.  "Get over here and fix the goddamn panel!"

            "Go fuck yourself!"

            Durant raised his phaser and blew out the lighting panel over her head.  Kathryn instinctively ducked, and the room dimmed.

            "The panel," he repeated through gritted teeth, leveling the phaser at her.

            "Or you'll kill me?"  Kathryn asked lightly, suddenly overcome with an intense feeling of déjà vu.

            "If I have to!"

            "You don't need me to point out the fallacy in your logic, John," she  replied calmly.  "You kill me, no one fixes that panel."

            "At least I'll know I killed you," he rasped.

            "And I'll die knowing Empek's about to kill you.  We're even, in any case," she returned.

            He shook his head, his lips twisted in what was half a sneer and half a grin.  "You're awful eager to help Empek out, aren't you, Kathryn?"

            "As long as it's you, John."

            "That surprises me," Durant continued, his voice adopting a slickness.  "Considering that Empek's probably right now dashing your Chakotay's intestines over my oriental carpet."  Kathryn felt her expression lock up, and Durant sensed the weakness, and played on it.  "Yes, he's probably butchering him right now.  The man's an animal.  Do you want to know how he killed your sister?"

            "No," Kathryn couldn't hear this.  She hadn't yet read the accident reports, never planned to.  It brought back so much pain…

            "Or even your mother?" Durant continued relentlessly.  "Oh, this one was beautiful… he gave me a thorough recount…. Every. Little. Detail.  Would you like to hear it, Kathryn?"

            "No!"

            "She was at the local promenade when a vendor—"

            "Goddamn you!" Janeway screamed, and ripped forward.

            The movement was too sudden for Durant to raise his phaser again, and by then she had him on the ground, arms pinned with her knees, her fists slamming into his face.  Over and over and over, she pummeled him, screaming words incoherent to even her own ears.  Durant jerked and dislodged her.  She was too light to slam him down again, and she felt herself falling, falling what seemed like forever until her back hit the floor.  His body followed, crawling atop of hers.  She cried out with sheer frustration, pounding his chest, then ripping into wrenching sobs at her own helplessness.  She could have done this before she met him, before Empek, before the mind games and the loss.  She'd degenerated mentally and only now she fully realized how she'd degenerated physically.

            His hands battled her hands, his weight crushing her, and he didn't even bother to muffle the curses she screamed at him.  His fists slammed into her ribs, into her jaw.  His fingers compressed like talons clawing into her arms, and when his face brushed hers and his teeth suddenly dug into her skin, Kathryn's voice died.

            They were there, locked in place, and his teeth eased up, his lips pressing gently in their place, his tongue snaking out to brush against her wound.  It continued this way several seconds, the transporter room enveloped in a deadly perverse silence, and she realized through a suddenly foggy mind that this was all Durant had wanted all along in a companion—someone he could torture and love, someone who would accept that for warmth and would reciprocate with loyalty and affection.  How revolting.  Yet how frighteningly similar to her.

            She began to cry silently, and she let her head loll over to the side, ignoring Durant who seemed to be trying to ignore the rapid approach of the end of his life.

            He didn't attempt to rape her, didn't even try.  She felt his fingers, sometimes lightly stroking her skin, his lips lightly brushing her cheeks, her neck, but never quite touching.  His forehead rested against hers, his fingers twined briefly with her hair, his thumb touched her collar bone.  He brushed the tears from her cheeks, and somehow this was infinitely more perverse than if he'd raped her.  Bile rose in her throat, a sour feeling permeating her entire body.  She wanted to die.

            The transporter room was filled with the tiny chirp of a sensor array.  Durant eased off of her, slipping back and rising to his feet.  His gaze grimly found the door.

            "He's in the corridor now," he told her, as if she still cared.  He raised his phaser slightly.  "Standard settings might not do anything on this bastard, but I'm betting maximum kill will leave him breathless.  Hopefully for good."  A pause.  "There's another phaser in the control panel.  If you want to help…"

            Kathryn didn't move from her position on the floor, feeling dead inside.  She listened to Durant's breathing grow more and more rapid, the only sensor she needed to judge Empek's position.

            The sickening sound of twisting metal pierced her ears, and white sparks flew from around the door frame.  Durant drew an imperceptible step backwards, his phaser held aloft before him with the uncertainty of a cadet.  As Kathryn watched him, she felt her body rising without her conscious volition.

            The door blew in, violently, sending metal shards and sparks streaming into the room.  The force knocked Durant right off his feet and slammed him into a sensor console, his resistance ended before it had truly begun.

            Empek emerged amidst the rain of fire, like a dark phantom from some nightmare, and Kathryn drew herself to full height, clutching the phaser from the control panel.  It took Empek a moment to turn his eyes from the prone Durant to notice her, now holding the phaser trained on him.  For the first time since this business had begun, he was at a disadvantage, his entire body and his disruptor facing the wrong direction.

            "Syndicate policy, isn't it, Empek?" she asked dispassionately.  "Kill the witnesses?"

            The answer he failed to give confirmed it for her. 

            "If I kill you now," Kathryn said slowly, "Before you turn around, then there will simply be others who come for me."

            "True," Empek replied evenly.

            "But then I'll at least have killed the man who murdered my mother."  She felt suddenly ferocious.  "It was you, wasn't it?"

            "Not personally," Empek replied simply.

            "But you had a hand in it."

            "Of course.  We all did."  He glanced down at her phaser briefly.  "You realize, Admiral Janeway, that I'm merely indulging you.  I could kill you even now before you could kill me."

            "You like us to believe that, don't you?"

            "It's all I can do," he replied simply.

She nodded along with him.  "Kill the witnesses."

            Kathryn turned then and aimed her phaser at Durant.  He only had enough time to register surprise on his face before she felled him with one shot to the chest.

            Empek was surprised, too stunned to move for one long moment, long enough for her to train her phaser back on him.

            She gripped his eyes with her own, noting coldly,  "You're the only witness here, Empek."

            He considered her for a long moment.  Then, for perhaps the first time since she'd known him, she discerned something in his expression.  A faint, grudging respect.

            "That's true, Admiral."  Pointedly, he holstered his disrupter.  Then, diplomatically,  "The Syndicate has been known, upon occasion, to be flexible with our policy."

            "Oh?" she said coolly, thinking he was referring to her.

            "If a witness can do us a favor, we've been known to, perhaps, forgive the witness their knowledge, provided they agree to keep that knowledge to themselves."

            She realized now he was also talking about himself.

            "And sometimes, should one choose to spare a witness, that witness can do a favor, say… lift a contract on one's head."

            "And ensure the Syndicate is out of the other witness's life forever?" Janeway demanded in a hard voice.

            "That, too," Empek inclined his head briefly.  "This blood is on your hands, Admiral…  I needn't be concerned with the ramifications of it."  He glanced over at Durant's body, and then spoke,  "Imagine, a scenario…  The corrupt politician embroils his unknowing wife in the more sordid side of politics, going so far as to order that wife kidnapped, forcing her into a publicity stunt against her will.  Word of the politician's plot leaks out, and he grows desperate and decides to murder his wife to cover his tracks, who, with her Starfleet training, dispatches of him and his female accomplice."  He rolled his eyes up to the wrecked door frame.  "I trust we can elaborate within that basic framework to explain this wreckage, and a few other complications I will evaluate."

            "And Chakotay?" she demanded.

            "*Your* accomplice, Admiral.  Perhaps he discovers he's being blamed for the wife's disappearance, and he returns to earth to clear his own name only to be captured by the corrupt politician.  Later he aids the wife in breaking free of her husband's grasp.  Something along those lines.  I trust you can come up with something."  A pause, then,  "We are agreed?"

            Janeway should have answered in the affirmative, but she found she could not lower her phaser.  It remained steadily trained upon him, locked in place, even now itching to destroy him.  She wasn't puzzled at her hesitation.  Every memory of this man reminded her of why she had to kill him here, now.  Her mother, her sister, possibly Chakotay.  He arranged it.  Her crewmen.  His fists administered those painful beatings, his mind devised  her terrible isolation.  Durant could never have done this without him; he never could have done anything.  It was all courtesy of Empek.

            Her heart began to thump rapidly in her ears.  She could kill him.  She couldn't let him escape, couldn't allow him to get away with this.  By God, she couldn't live with herself if she let him walk away.  She hated this man.  He had wrecked her life.  He had reduced her to this.

            Kathryn was aware of movement in the corridor behind Durant.  She glanced just beyond him to see Chakotay.  Her heart flooded with sudden warmth, relief.  He looked frazzled, walking stiffly, his forehead bloodied, but otherwise alright.

            He would accept whatever she did.  He would not deny her revenge on this monster, even if it destroyed his own life in the process.

            And that was why she could not do this.  If she killed Empek now, the Syndicate would pursue Chakotay until the day he died.  And her.  Everyone she cared about.  She had a chance to end it now, and however bitter it made her feel, she had to take it.

            Durant was dead.  That was enough.  That should be enough.  He was truly the one who did this.  Empek was merely the means.  Empek was the weapon Durant wielded, as empty and emotionless as any piece of equipment, and bereft of conscience or soul.  Durant's malice and Durant's aims lay behind everything, and he was the one that ultimately had to pay.  And now he had.

            Janeway lowered her phaser, still struggling with her own hatred.  She gave Empek a shaky nod, and he returned it.  With one last parting glance at Durant's prone form, he said,  "Good day, Admiral."

            He turned around and disappeared around the corridor, and the Syndicate walked out of her life.

            Chakotay entered the room in his wake, eyeing Kathryn cautiously, glancing at Durant.

            "Kathryn… is it over?"

            She nodded mutely.

            "I've spent the last half hour looking for you.  This place is huge, probably has some sort of sensor jamming device…"  His voice trailed off when the phaser slipped from her numb fingers and clattered to the floor.

            He approached her slowly, as though she were a wild animal, and she watched him come through weary eyes.

            "It's truly done?" he inquired again.

            "It's finished."

            "How did you find me?" she asked queitly.

            He grinned.  "Long story."

            She didn't press him further.  Her arms crossed over her chest as she stood staring down at Durant with haunted eyes.

            Someone else might have congratulated her on the victory, or said something cheerful and entirely wrong.

            Chakotay drew closer and gently touched her cheek.  "I'm sorry."

            Not sorry that it was over.  Sorry that it happened.

            Kathryn's eyes began to tear.  Her exhaustion threatened to send her sagging back into his grasp, but then she realized herself, and realized his hand still rested against her cheek.

Janeway flinched away from him.  He watched her with mild surprise.

            "We have business to take care of."  Her voice sounded firmer than she felt.  "This mess… among other things…"

            "Kathryn…"  He reached towards her.

            "Don't!" 

He flinched this time.  Her words were harsher than she intended, but she was too exhausted, her emotions too raw to smooth them over.  She avoided his gaze, looking at the ground as she turned around.

            "Let's just get moving."


	16. Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

            Perhaps this was the point she should have walked into the sunset and lived happily ever after.  But Kathryn found herself in cold, hard reality.  It was no fairy tale.  Life was unforgiving.

            The late Jonathan Durant was exposed, tarnished for the quadrant to see, and in the eyes of many, so was Kathryn Janeway.  Their names, linked together for so long, remained tied even after the reality of their union (or a convenient variant of it) was known.  She found herself the target of public resentment.  How far and how thoroughly people had bought into the image of John Durant!  And they all were wrong.  They were suckers, fools, and they hated that the wool had been pulled over their eyes.  Durant was not there to resent, but his wife was.

            The looks she received on the street, in headquarters, were judgmental, callous, haughty.  Everyone claimed to have seen Janeway for what she was before the whole Durant fiasco.  "When Voyager returned, I recommended a prison term for Janeway!"  a proud Admiral Hayden proclaimed in an interview.  "I was never fooled by those two scoundrels."  The media hounded her relentlessly, trying to make the public forget that they themselves were Durant's original heralds.

Starfleet did not entirely abandon her. She was not forced out-- the facts were on her side-- but emotions were raw whenever she was present, and thus she was ostracized even without any official decree.

            But the scorn didn't hurt her.  It didn't even touch her.  Kathryn was numb and utterly unaware of the life around her.

            In the very beginning, she put in a half-hearted effort to restore her life.  She tried to revive her friendship with Admiral Paris.  They were both nervous; their words were diplomatic and tentative.  Owen Paris did not blame her.  He was one of the few who knew the true situation, and he understood her behavior.  He felt for her.  He made friendly overtures and invited her over frequently for stiff dinner parties.  But Kathryn couldn't fight her anxiety around him.  Every time she spoke with him, she wanted nothing more than to escape.  

She knew Durant was dead.  He wasn't around to be enraged at her for speaking with the Admiral.  Empek would not be waiting to pummel her as soon as she returned to her apartment.  There were no consequences now for speaking with Admiral Paris.  It simply made no difference.  She was terrified when she was with the elderly admiral, and she was ashamed that she was still afraid, because every rational part of her being decried herself a fool for fearing a dead man.    It was absurd.  It was laughable.  And although she recognized the absurdity of it, the terrible fear was very much real and undeniable.  She avoided Owen Paris.  She could always come up with some pretense to beg off his invitations.

Her avoidance of Owen Paris quickly extended to his relatives.  She begged off frequent invitations from Paris and Torres.  Paris seemed to get the message.  Unfortunately, Torres was slightly more stubborn than the rest.  She'd barge in uninvited and unexpected to check up on Janeway a few times a week, and snap at her as though she were some errant child if she felt Kathryn wasn't taking care of herself.  Janeway might have been touched at one time, or she might have snapped back, if only she'd had the energy.  It was now simply an inconvenience.

            And Chakotay.  She avoided Chakotay like the devil himself.  Just sitting in the same room with him choked her up with emotions, emotions that shamed her now that she knew they would never be reciprocated.  He was with Seven again, and probably for good this time.  His rebuff of her affections on the shuttle... It still mortified her to think of it.  She tried not to.  It was easier to forget him if she never thought of him, and it was easier not to think of him if she never saw him.

            He pressed himself on her very frequently early on, fussing over whether she was taking care of herself, urging her to see a counselor.  She tried eating, even remembered it upon occasion.  Kathryn tried the counselor, too.  The man was infuriating and she stormed out after two sessions, but she didn't tell Chakotay.  Why worry him needlessly? Especially now that he had Seven to focus his attentions upon.  He was probably only focusing on her out of some sense of obligation, or perhaps some benign pity.  Either way, she would have none of it.  Chakotay had freed her from Durant, and now Kathryn resolved to free Chakotay from her.  Having Chakotay tied to her out of pity was worse than not having Chakotay at all.  

She grew cold around him.  She did not return transmissions, she did not accept or extend invitations.  He seemed baffled, and not a little hurt by her actions, but what else could she do?  She couldn't be around him, couldn't bear to feel this way knowing he loved Seven.  She'd rather forget about him than punish herself with the repeated sight of the love she'd destroyed.

            Kathryn tried to distract herself from these depressing thoughts by reminding herself that she was free, _truly free_ for the first time in a decade.  The first night, after all the mess had died down, when she found herself alone in her apartment, she'd thrown herself out into the world, exultant, feeling the wind against her cheeks and the streets alive all around her.  She basked in the freedom as the night wore on and until the sky brightened with early morning, feeling herself tremble with a myriad of excitement and anxiety every time she reflected, yet again, that there were no consequences for this.  No curfew, no angry Empek waiting to beat the living shit out of her.  It should have made her happy.  When she returned to her apartment, however, she felt consumed by a deep emptiness that did not leave her the next day.

            Freedom.  It meant nothing.  It was worthless.  She spent most days and nights staring at the wall of her apartment, unthinking, too exhausted to do anything but sit there.  Sometimes she'd get the energy to turn on the viewer.  But the silence was full enough without the buzz of irrelevant noise from the small screen.  Sometimes her attention was caught by a disparaging news report about herself.  These she'd watch with a sort of masochistic satisfaction, relishing every hateful word of slander about her, disgusted by the sight of her own ghastly image on the view screen.

            Kathryn finally took leave from active duty.  It relieved her coworkers to be rid of her, she was unsurprised to notice.  It relieved her as well.  Away from her duties as an officer, she had twelve more hours to sit in her apartment staring listlessly at the wall, marveling at how pathetic she'd become.  Her thoughts were scattered and increasingly bizarre.  In the unstructured chaos of her new life, she never exactly thought of her days with Durant with fondness, but sometimes she almost missed them.  At least under Durant's control she'd had her hatred to propel her through the day.  At least then she had some structure and direction to her life, rather than this drift less sleepwalk through a foggy twilight.  At least then she could fool herself into thinking only circumstances stood between Chakotay and her, and not a genuine lack of affection.   

More often than not, Kathryn simply wished she'd perished in the Delta Quadrant.

            It was perhaps four months before Kathryn dragged herself from the apartment, compelled by some intellectual if not emotional knowledge that she could not remain hidden away all day.  It surprised her that very few people noticed her as she passed them on the street.  It was one thing to see Janeway on a view screen, but now that she hadn't been in the news a few months, she could disappear like any other woman into the crowds.  The anonymity brought an incredible sense of relief.

            During the fist of her outings, it was just the alcohol she relished.  Kathryn had never been much of a drinker.  Even the few jaunts she had during her time with Durant had failed to truly register as more than a temporary escape.  Now, she found something more.  When she drank excessively night after night, week after week, the hangovers lessened, the periods of horrible lucidity blurred.  The alcohol became a comfortable, swollen blanket, stifling her from the world, filling the distance between her emotions and her shredded life.  She forgot the pain, blurred the memories.  It enveloped her intellect in the same sluggishness that weighed down her spirit, and though it did not feel good, the important thing was-- it did not feel bad.

            And then she allowed a man to buy her a drink.  She didn't get a good look at his features; she couldn't recall his face once his dark head turned away from her.  But that night had found her spread cross his bed, and he wasn't gentle enough to break her long period of celibacy without pain.  It didn't last very long, just a few blind minutes as she lay there crushed beneath him, hearing him grunt in her ear.

            She expected to feel ashamed when she returned to her apartment, but she felt nothing.  It burned between her legs, and for some reason, her ribs were bruised.  She knew the sick feeling as she stood beneath the rumbling sonic shower was entirely unconnected with her one night stand.

            A few days passed before she went home with another man.  And then another.  Then more.  It just kept going.  Kathryn could never remember faces; she'd stare at them through blurry eyes, trying to burn their features into her memory, but her mind was blank the next day.  She never remembered the physical sensations either.  She might have climaxed, she might not have.  She'd feel the tell tale bruising of sex the next morning, but that was the only physical sign of her activity.  She would never sleep with them, she'd never allow them to sleep with her.  Just sex, then departure.  It continued that way for an interminable period of time until one night she was with a man in her apartment, and she looked up into his face in the middle of the sex.

            Durant's eyes were unfocused on her face, sweat trickling down his forehead and flushed cheeks as he concentrated on thrusting into her.

            A scream ripped from her lips, and Kathryn fought wildly at the man's grip on her.  She heard him snarl at her to shut her mouth as she tried to crawl away from him, pinned in place by a bruising grip on her shoulder.  A heavy hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her screams, a hand not thrown off by the thrashing of her head.  He held her still until he emptied himself into her, and she was sobbing hysterically by then, recoiling and curling into a ball as soon as he slid his sweaty weight from her body.

            She crouched there a few moments, weeping, trembling, her hands clenched convulsively across her bare knees as she heard him dressing.  It took her an effort to look at him through her tears, and she saw the face of a man that was not Durant gazing back at her with irritation.  "The hell's your problem, lady?" he asked as he yanked on his pants.

            Kathryn had no words; her tongue felt like a thick mass, heavy in her mouth.  Her surprise blotted her thoughts.  She sat there numbly as he left her apartment.  Her hand trembled violently as it found its way between her legs, feeling the sticky, nauseating fluid there, and then her body was wracked anew with painful sobs.

            Through blind anguish, she rushed into the sonic shower, then ran a bath, back into the sonic shower.  She burned the sheets in a pile on the floor of her apartment, let out a cry of terror when the smoke alarm sounded.  Fresh tears leaked from her eyes, and she reached with blind fury into a drawer and shot the smoke alarm from the wall.  It hit the floor of the apartment with a thwap, sputtering little yellow sparks.  Kathryn sank to the ground, her hands clamped over her face, weeping piteously.  She was still that way when B'Elanna found her.

            The half-Klingon spoke words she didn't listen to; Kathryn didn't want to hear anything.  The other woman urged her to calm down.  After blurs of B'Elanna's soft voice, strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her up and over to the sofa.  A tank top was eased over her head to cover her body, a garment once tight, now sagging over her frame.  Hands eased her down onto her side, and she was still weeping when a blanket was tucked around her body.  A soft palm brushed over and over again, easing her hair back from her forehead, pressed a glass of water to her lips.  Kathryn wasn't aware of the point when B'Elanna's hand became Chakotay's, but he ended up being the one she leaned against during one of her trips to the lavatory.

He released her just outside the door, and she nearly stumbled inside, clutching her balance on the sink, hearing the door slide shut behind her with a soft hiss.  She pressed the button and activated the faucet, simply watching the clear water rush into the black drain for an interminable period of time before she turned it off.  When she looked up and saw herself in the mirror, she was struck with a sudden jolt of shock.

            She looked like a corpse.  Kathryn turned her head this way, that, her mouth dry, gazing in morbid fascination at the way her head looked like little more than a skull with some gray skin and lank hair plastered over it.  Her eyes, dark and lifeless, the shadows beneath them dark like hollows.  Eyes red and lifeless.  Her lips were pale and thin, and the entire impression of her appearance was one of extreme fragility.  A woman on the verge of shattering.

            She raised a shaky hand to finger her jutting cheekbone, and realized that, although she'd gazed in the mirror many times recently, this was the first time she'd actually seen anyone looking back at her.

            Kathryn was struck with the horrified realization that she _did_ look like a victim.  The woman in the mirror looked weak, frightened, vulnerable.  She'd wondered on her few jaunts under Durant, and now her frequent ones on her own, why she seemed to draw the attention of predators, and now she knew why.  They looked at her and they saw someone too frightened, too depressed, too ashamed to defend herself.

            And they were right.

            The marble sink felt cold against her palms as she leaned against it.  She reached out to touch the control of the sink, to flip on the clear stream of water again, but stopped herself.  To what?  Watch the water flow into the drain for a few minutes more?  How long had she done that already?

            When Kathryn walked out of the lavatory and saw a concerned Chakotay waiting for her, her face crumpled.  He drew her towards him, she buried her head against his chest.  She shook with tears, even as she was horrified by the feel of her own bony form trembling as weakly as a sick child.  Gods, but she was sick.  She was dying.****

            A few minutes and they were sitting together on the couch, Chakotay sadly fingering a bruise staining her pale arm.  A question flickered through her mind, momentary confused at how she'd come by the mark.  The faint imprint of fingers...  Oh God.

            Kathryn covered her face again, hiding herself from Chakotay's gaze as she said,  "I don't know what's wrong with me.  I just can't stop… with it."

            He nodded slowly.  He seemed to understand what she was saying, and she felt a new stab of shame at the knowledge.  Kathryn's fingers tightened around her face, and his hand stroked lightly over her back.

            "Listen to me, Kathryn," his voice was soft and gentle.  "The counselor-- have you been seeing him?"

            "No," she replied harshly, suddenly defensive.  Her hands slipped from her face and balled into tight fists.  "I hate that man.  I'm not going back to him."

            "Fine," Chakotay said appealingly, and she didn't want to meet his gaze.  "No one is going to force you to go back to him.  You should choose someone you feel comfortable with."  When she remained silent, his hand stopped mid-stroke, resting heavily on her back.  "Kathryn, you _are_ going to see a counselor, aren't you?"

            "I guess I have to now."  Her voice sounded more bitter than she intended.

            "Kathryn," Chakotay said to her quietly.  "What you've been through-- it would do this to anyone.  You're hurting."

            She laughed harshly at that.  "We both know the more apt word would be 'whoring'."

            "No," he said firmly, and when she looked away, he touched her chin lightly with his fingers, but did not turn her head.  "No, you're hurting.  You saw your world stolen from you, not once, but twice.  You were forced into marriage with a man intent on using you for his own ambitions.  You lost your family, your independence.  And he did everything he could to prevent you from regaining that.  Don't you see, Kathryn?  You were strong, you fought him, but it took a toll on you.  He made you loathe yourself.  You're not eating, you don't look like you're sleeping, and what you've been doing with these men--"

            "Please don't talk about that, Chakotay," Kathryn pleaded in a small voice.  She didn't want him to think about that; she couldn't bear it if he gave more thought to that.  He must already think she was so--

            "He hurt you.  He hurt your perceptions of the world, and he hurt your perceptions of yourself.  I think, somewhere in there, you feel you deserved what he did to you; I think somehow he managed to cut you that deeply.  And you act upon it.  He's not here to harm you anymore, he can't humiliate you.  But you're ashamed, and you've been doing his job for him...  You've been hurting yourself."

            Kathryn said nothing when he paused, a weighty silence hanging between them as tears streaked down her cheeks.

            His voice continued softly,  "Kathryn, it's a compulsion, like any other.  It's not the end of the galaxy, it doesn't make you a bad person.  You can work through it."  His hand paused a moment, then tentatively ran his fingers down her back.  "_We_ can work through it."

            Kathryn suddenly felt herself go cold.  His words, so easy before, unraveling her psyche the way she hadn't yet managed to... 

Up until that word, that 'we'.  We.

            There was no 'we'.  If there was, it existed only in her memory.  Chakotay and Seven.  That was 'we'.  Chakotay and Kathryn?  Nothing.  Unravel the mess in her head with him?  How could she, when he was the core of so much of that pain?  She couldn't do this.  She couldn't.

            This was a mistake.  What was the point of this?  Words.  Words had no power.  It was hopeless.

            "Actually…  I think I'll be fine."  Her voice sounded slightly strained as she rose to her feet.  Inside, she felt glacial as she met Chakotay's incredulous eyes with her own.  "I'm glad we had this talk, Commander.  I'll certainly take your words into advisement."

            Janeway started to turn from him, but he suddenly lanced from the couch and grasped her arm.  "Why are you doing this now, Kathryn?" he asked intently, his voice colored with distress.  "What happened?  Why are you shutting down on me?"

            She met his stare without discernible expression.  Her heart felt strangely cold.  "I've heard your advice, Chakotay, and now I'm tired.  I'll be fine, and I'd appreciate it if I could have my apartment to myself for a while."

            Chakotay stared at her through dark, dismayed eyes as she slowly extricated her arm from his grip.

            "Don't do this, Kathryn."  There was a note of pleading in his voice.

            A smile crossed Kathryn's face.  It didn't touch her eyes.  It felt plaster, as though someone had pulled up the corners of her lips with puppet strings.  "Thank you for stopping by, Chakotay.  Excuse me.  I think I'm going to go to bed."

            Chakotay stood there a beat, staring at her helplessly.  She waited expectantly until his shoulders sagged, and he turned with resignation towards the door.  "If that's the way you want it, there's nothing I can do, Kathryn."

            Kathryn watched him walk towards the door.  "Thanks again for visiting."  Her voice sounded hollow.  As the door slid open, she gave in to a sudden, malicious impulse and added spitefully,  "And give my regards to Seven of Nine."

            He paused in the doorway, his back to her, large shoulders drawing up like an alert bear.  Kathryn immediately regretted her words and wished she could take them back.  She spun around to bolt out of sight before he could deride her for them, but Chakotay whipped around, arresting her movement with his intent gaze.

            "Seven?  What do you mean, Kathryn?"

            Kathryn fumbled for words, opening and closing her mouth a split second before saying in a disjointed tone,  "Look-- Chakotay, I-- don't bother.  I know.  It's okay.  I'm happy for you," the smile felt fake on her lips, and her voice rang false.  "Really."

            "_What_ are you talking about?" Chakotay's voice sounded incredulous.

            "I know you're with Seven, " she explained.  She flashed him a false, uneasy grin.  "It's okay, I saw you two together—on the shuttle.  But it's fine, I won't…"

            Her voice trailed off as his expression came alive before her eyes.

"Kathryn," Chakotay sputtered, the white-toothed grin playing across his handsome face one of genuine amusement.  "Seven of Nine's with the Doctor."

            There was a beat of silence.   Janeway stared at him dumbly.  Then,  "What?"

            "She goes by Annika Hansen now," Chakotay elaborated, taking a step from the doorway back into the room, gaining confidence.  "She's been involved with the Doctor over a year now, and they're getting married next February.  She wanted to invite you-- she misses you-- but she wasn't sure how to go about it.  She wanted my blessing for the match.  That's all we were talking about."

            That was all.

            Thoughts flew through Kathryn's mind, puzzling out his words, her mind flashing back to the embrace she witnessed and his shattering words—he'd 'settle the matter' with her.  She had assumed he intended to reveal to her his affection for Seven.  But all this time, it was just about Seven's wedding.  Seven of Nine's goddamn wedding.  Chakotay didn't love Seven.  Nothing was there between them!  That meant…

A brief moment of hope flooded through her before she suddenly realized the real truth with sickening clarity.  And she felt doubly humiliated now.  

            His rebuff had nothing to do with Seven. He'd rejected her out of genuine disinterest, not out of affection for Seven.  He simply didn't want to be with her!  He could that never have occurred to her?  Was she an imbecile, or simply that arrogant that she couldn't possibly have conceived of that reason?

Stupid.  How egotistical to assume his only reason for rejecting her was founded in love for another woman.  It wasn't that Chakotay loved another woman, it was just that he didn't love _her_.

            "I'm sorry," the words flew out of her mouth as her shame grew.  She couldn't meet his eyes.  She felt sick.  "It was presumptuous of me to assume you had to be involved with someone else.  When I—approached you--  I understand completely… In your place, I wouldn't either--"  The words were too hard for her, and she turned away sharply, her eye stinging.  Chakotay was at her side quickly, turning her to face him.

            "Is that what this is about?"  He asked incredulously.  "The shuttle?"

            Her laugh was false and brought tears to her eyes.  "I know, you don't have to explain, now please go--"

            "Kathryn," his warm palm against her cheek tilted her face back towards his.  "When I said I didn't think the time was right, it wasn't a... reflection of my feelings for you."

            Her brow furrowed in confusion.  "Then, what-- I don't understand..."

            "Kathryn," Chakotay's voice was soft.  "Look at yourself, look at--"

            Her lips twitched with new pain.  "Of course.  I know... I look hideous --"

            "No," Chakotay said firmly, momentarily tempted to make a joke about her repeatedly twisting his words into disparaging remarks, but instinctively knowing this was too fragile a moment for anything but the utmost delicacy.  "I'm not talking about looks.  You're beautiful, you always have been.  I'm talking about...  It's that you look like a woman who is in pain.  This apartment, this..."  he fingered the bruise on her arm sadly.  "You've been through something traumatic.  I've waited for you nearly a decade; I can't take advantage of you when you're still vulnerable.  That was my belief in the shuttle, that is my belief now.  Kathryn, I love you.  You know that.  I will never stop loving you.   And before you and I ever take this friendship to another level, I want to know that you are entirely sure of yourself, that you won't later have cause to regret becoming involved with me.  I don't want to hurt you." 

            He paused, taking a steadying breath, before continuing,  "And Kathryn, even if, when everything is clear for you again, you decide you'd rather be with someone else--"

            "I'd never want that," Kathryn cut in with sudden emotion.

            "But even if you did," Chakotay said firmly, holding her eyes,  "I would respect your wishes, and I would never stop caring for you.  I don't want you to feel pressure about this, about me.  I will always be here.  Right by your side."

            _Like the last time?_ Janeway thought sourly, her mind flashing to those months after their arrival in the Alpha Quadrant, the months Durant had slowly entangled her in his web while Chakotay danced around the galaxy with Seven.

            But that wasn't fair, and she knew it. 

            "Can you let me help you, Kathryn?  Can you trust in me?"

            Swallowing hard, Janeway felt herself nod.

            His palm, soft against her cheek.

            "Can you trust in yourself?"

            She found she couldn't answer that.

*          *          *

            The worst was over, but the road ahead was not without difficulty.  Kathryn butted heads with two different counselors before she found one that inexplicably managed to worm her way into Kathryn's trust.

She spent hours with Chakotay every day, often sleeping over in his apartment (all innocent, of course) out of a strange unease attached to her own.

            Chakotay was concerned at first at Kathryn's constant need for his company.  He certainly didn't mind being around her for so much of his time, on some level was even gratified for it, but he wasn't certain this was beneficial for her.  He found himself revisiting old fears that he might be harming more than helping Kathryn by letting her develop this dependence on him, and a few concerned hails to the counselor to communicate his concerns quickly found him expressing his own fears to the counselor, his own doubts about his ability to help her.  He learned to differentiate between Kathryn's situation and his mishaps with Seven, the differences between allowing dependence in a fully self-aware adult who had been shattered, and dependence in an emotional adolescent who hadn't known her own identity in the first place, who needed someone to help define her.

            They attended the wedding of Doctor "Joe" (they'd both snickered privately at his choice of name), and Annika Hansen.  Kathryn had been unusually tense before the occasion, fearing that she'd be subjected to the same scorn regarding the Durant fiasco at the hands of the crew she cared about, as she had at the hands of the general public.  However, when they arrived at the wedding, she was confronted with nothing but good will and affection, a crew—a family—who cared about her too much and held too much loyalty for her to believe the slander, or to trust that the scandal was actually the real story.

            Kathryn didn't have to explain herself to them.  They accepted her.  They smiled knowingly when she arrived with Chakotay, and when she left the wedding, she was buzzing with happiness and something like elation, Chakotay knew for sure then that things were going to sort out for Kathryn after all.

            Shortly after that, she grew restless.  She wanted her space.  When she insisted on going to a science conference and balked at his idea of accompanying her, he felt reassured rather than rebuffed.  Each instance where her independence reasserted itself raised his confidence in her a notch more, and when she finally stated her desire to approach something more than friendship again, he had no fears of a dire outcome.

            It started slowly.  Dinners grew slightly more intimate, touches slightly more personal.  Then they kissed, and slowly became accustomed to the higher level of intimacy.  They touched freely, learning each other's bodies, but still refraining from that final step.

            Chakotay would see a mischievous spark in Kathryn's eyes sometimes, and he had a creeping feeling that she was planning something special.  When the next Voyager reunion approached, he realized that he had been right.

*          *          *

            "We were originally planning to wait," Harry Kim was saying, standing on the podium before the Voyager crew in the elaborately decorated banquet hall.  His eyes found Janeway and Chakotay again, seated towards the front of the stage, the only two in the audience not expressing some show of pleasure or anticipation.  Harry grinned at them, and he saw the two exchange puzzled glances, as though realizing there was something the rest knew that they hadn't caught on to yet.

            "We were planning to wait until the fifth reunion to give you two this.  It seemed more symbolic, somehow, a much more special occasion," Kim said lightly.  "But after giving it some thought, reunion number four seemed pretty damn good after all."  He winked at Janeway.  "You always liked things early, Captain."

            Janeway felt herself smile, barely noticing the slip.  Technically, she was not a captain.  But she'd long since realized that the Voyager crew would always think of her that way.  Their Captain.

            "Harry!" Janeway heard Torres call out from the audience, somewhere behind her.  "Just give it to them!"

            Laughter filtered through the ranks, and Janeway felt a pleasant flutter of anticipation.  Chakotay's hand squeezed hers.

            Harry grinned sheepishly, inclined his head towards Torres.  "Yes, ma'am."  He drew back a step, raising his eyebrows.  "You two ready for this?"

            At the urging of the crewmembers around them, Janeway and Chakotay rose to their feet.

            "Ready as we'll ever be, Harry," Janeway said confidently.

            Kim shrugged, tapped his communicator, and called,  "Energize!"

            At Janeway's feet materialized a book.  She bent down and picked it up, found herself looking at a hardcopy text of Starfleet Regulations.

            "Oh," Janeway said, trying to muster some enthusiasm in her voice, feeling the eyes of the crew upon her.  "Starfleet Regulations.  This is… wonderful."

            When more laughter echoed around her, she knew she'd been had.  Harry was smiling fondly again.

            "All right, but seriously this time,"  He tapped his communicator again and called for transport.

            Just a few feet before Janeway and Chakotay, now dominating half the room, materialized a powerful, sleek little vessel.  Kathryn stared at it in shock for a long moment, wondering first how they'd afforded the credits to purchase something like this, second, how they'd acquired the credits to transport something this size, and then feeling herself break out into a delighted grin.

            "My God," Chakotay murmured, stepping out from beside her to tentatively approach the ship.  "This is… for us?"

            "Joint ownership," Harry Kim replied, stepping out from behind the podium and jumping down to join him on the floor.  He approached Kathryn then, and smiled knowingly at the rest of the crew as he added,  "We thought you two might be… friendly enough to share it."  His dark eyes found his former captain's.  "Do you approve?"

            Janeway, still gazing fondly at the gift, could only nod in wonderment.  Then, tears in her eyes, she reached out and pulled Harry into an embrace.  "Thank you!"

            The former crew again broke into applause, and Kathryn drew back from Harry and added amidst the racket,  "Thank you all!"

            She felt Chakotay approach beside her, extending his own thanks, slapping Harry's back.  As his warm presence touched her side, and the love and affection of the former crew around her penetrated her awareness, Kathryn knew this would be one of the happiest moments of her life.  All those dark years were over, all her work to save her crew paying off in kind.  She smiled up at Chakotay, and he returned it with equal warmth.  With love.  Her hand found his, and she knew finally that nothing would tear them apart.

            A few minutes found them staring at the shuttle together, left to themselves to marvel at the gift.

            "It's truly incredible of them," Chakotay said, awed.

            "It is," Kathryn replied.  Then, she added a little darkly,  "But it interferes with my plans."

            "Your plans?" Chakotay asked, looking at her with a grin.  "And what were they?"

            Kathryn returned his grin with a beautiful one of her own, and glanced coyly back to the shuttle.  "I reserved us a hotel room.  In Italy.  The very same one from that night."

            Chakotay caught his breath.

            "Kathryn," he began,  "If that's the issue, you know I am more than willing to come back for this ship tomorrow—"

            Her finger touched his lips, stilling his words.  Her eyes glittered warmly into his, and her grin sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

            "No…"  Kathryn said in a husky voice.  "I just mean, with a private space of our own, I don't see why we should wait until we're in Italy."

*          *          *

            He was holding her later in the shuttle, having christened it with her twice already that evening, and probably not for the last time.  She drew out of his arms, absently holding a glass of champagne, marveling at the interior of the vessel.  The crew of Voyager had banded their credits together to buy this for them, and they'd certainly gone all out.  Even Tom Paris's vessel paled in comparison.

            Kathryn walked to the conn and admired the shiny control panel, running her hand across the smooth surface.

            "This is really an incredible ship," she said to Chakotay, her eyes flickering around the interior.  "Chakotay, I could honestly see us living here long-term."

            Chakotay cocked an eyebrow at her, approaching the front and lowering himself into the chair across from her.  He tugged at her hand to urge her into his lap.  "You sound like you have a plan," he said softly.  "Something I should know about?"

            Kathryn gazed searchingly into his eyes, raising her hand to caress his cheek.  "Would it really be so bad, Chakotay?  If we just left?  If I returned to Starfleet, I would be stuck behind a desk, and as for you, I know there are more stimulating things out there for a paleontologist than teaching."  She smiled, and he found himself returning it.  "Think of everything out there for us to explore…"

            He reached up and ran his fingers through her hair, twirling a few locks absently between his fingers.  "I'm game for it if you are," he said with a grin.  "But where were you thinking of heading?  Are we going to venture around Federation space, or—"

            "No," Kathryn said, her eyes alive with the possiblities.  "I was actually thinking we could go back to the Delta Quadrant."

            "The Delta Quadrant?" Chakotay exclaimed.  It was amazing that after all these years, and especially the past intimate months, she still managed to surprise him.  "Why would you want to go back there?  You hated the Delta Quadrant."

            "I hated that I'd stranded my crew there," she admitted.  "I hated that I couldn't rest until I returned all of you home."  She looked down at the console before her.  "But I never really had a chance to see it.  Not as an explorer."  Her eyes returned to his.  "And what are we leaving behind?  The crew can get by without us now, and your sister would understand… There's a whole new frontier to explore out there."  Kathryn shifted on his lap to face him completely now.  "What do you say?"

            Chakotay was still reeling in surprise.  He'd never even considered returning the Delta Quadrant, had never thought of it in simple terms of exploration.  It had been a challenge for them to overcome, once, a long time ago on Voyager.  But it had never been merely an object of fascination.  The possibilities intrigued him.

            "How would we get there?" he asked her.

            Janeway shrugged.  "Same way we returned, I suppose."

            He frowned.  "I don't know if I approve of you traveling through time again—"

            She hit his chest, and he broke into a grin.  "No, you doofus," Kathryn laughed.  "I thought we could simply set a course for the Delta Quadrant, and have some adventures along the way."  She paused a moment.  "Well?  Are you with me?"

            "I suppose I'm your man, Captain," Chakotay replied, drawing her in for a kiss.

            She reached out and pressed her fingers over his lips, blocking the kiss for a moment.  Her blue eyes sparkled meaningfully into his.  "No Captain.  No Commander.  No rank.  Just you and me.  Chakotay and Kathryn."

            Chakotay smiled again.  "Then I suppose I'm your man, Kathryn."

            He kissed her this time, and she pulled back millimeters to grin against his lips.

            "And don't you ever forget it, Mister."

THE END


End file.
